


For Pure Blood

by malfoycouture



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asphyxiation Kink, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM, Blackmail, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Het, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, May/December Relationship, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Murder, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Multiple, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Spanking, Substance Abuse, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 267,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfoycouture/pseuds/malfoycouture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione strikes a deal with Lucius Malfoy, but both get more than they bargained for.  Hermione learns that her intentions are not as noble as she initially thought.  Lucius learns that Hermione is not to be underestimated; beneath her Head Girl facade is a witch as ruthless as he is.  What follows are hard lessons for both regarding trust, power, selfishness, redemption, and sacrifice.  </p><p>  <em>"You do like that, don't you?"  Lucius said, his voice low, seductive.  "It's almost as if you want to enjoy this.  But that would be unthinkable, wouldn't it?"</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Wager; 1: Chicken; 2: The Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> I started this work just over a decade ago, right after _Order of the Phoenix_ came out. At the time, it was speculative, but I liked it, so I turned into a larger story. So it's set somewhere in an alternate Year 7, essentially ending canon with the very beginning of _Half-Blood Prince_ , and then, because it made sense with the trajectory of the story, dovetailing back into late _Deathly Hallows_ at the end of the work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius is released from Azkaban, the Order wants to make a move, but is missing a key ingredient. Hermione and Ginny hatch a plan that involves a rather delicate proposition. 
> 
> _When Ginny spoke again, her tone had changed, becoming serious. "Well, young women have assets that men, particularly older men, find...appealing...In leveraging those assets, you could make him an offer, an exchange, that Professor Snape could never hope to match. And all it would take is a few minutes of your life."_

PROLOGUE: THE WAGER

Fred and George Weasley were loitering outside the Room of Requirement. They had left Hogwarts two years ago, but it was the night of the 7th Year Ball and all Hogwarts alumni were invited. Ron was about to graduate and the twins could not resist a party, but it had waned and hiding outside the Room of Requirement to see who would emerge and perform the Walk of Shame was a tradition that had lasted almost a decade, as had betting on it. Fred was up by one and George was determined to settle the score. 

It was a ritual that took the sort of patience and discipline the twins typically lacked, but it had paid off multiple times. "Remember 3rd Year?" George asked Fred, keeping his voice down. "Filch and Madam Pince?" 

Fred shuddered. "I thought I had blocked it out."

George's eyes gleamed in the torchlight. "I hadn't. The memory still warms me on lonely nights."

Fred made a face. "I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. If I remember right, no one won that time around."

"On every possible level, Fred; _no one_ won." 

They hadn't bothered with Extendable Ears. In one of the most highly magical places in one of the most highly magical buildings in the world, they simply didn't work. It was for the best, as it kept them both thinking, rather than cheating. The game wasn't really about betting on the first person to come out, but the second. Each year, they had caught at least two, if not four, or, one lucky year, six people. They never revealed themselves, preferring to keep it, like so many other jokes, between the two of them. 

It was close to midnight. Fred yawned. Someone had to be getting close. George leaned against the statue they were hiding behind and practiced sleight of hand with a Galleon piece, making it travel up and then down across his fingers. Not magic precisely, but when done correctly, it flowed like water. George let himself be momentarily mesmerized by the gold sparkling off the Galleon as it traveled up and back down again. The challenge was in making it look effortless, like real magic, not just some Muggle party trick, which of course, was what it actually was.

Fred knocked George in the arm and George caught the Galleon piece just before it hit the stone floor and revealed them both. George gave his brother a long-suffering look but it was lost: Fred's eyes were wide and his mouth hung open as he gestured frantically for George to turn around. 

George turned around and his jaw dropped, mirroring his twin. Stepping out of the door that had recently manifested in the blank wall was none other than Hermione Granger, wearing her gorgeous, perfectly fit, red silk dress that seemed to generate its own light. They had seen her earlier, of course, and danced with her too, but now her carefully curled updo hung disheveled half on one shoulder and half down her back. She carried her red heels in one hand. The door closed behind her and then disappeared. Hermione leaned against the wall, breathing rapidly in and out, her lips curled into a smile. Her other hand shaking, she tucked a red bra strap back into her gown. She then did that dance girls do when their underwear isn't quite right. After a second, she headed down the hall without looking back.

Once she was gone, the twins dared to look at each other. They knew from experience that they could not do this until their victims were well underway as they were incapable of keeping straight faces at such a time. This time was no exception. As soon as they met each other's eyes, they both burst out laughing, stifling it somewhat with their knuckles. They knew that the other partner could come out at any moment. 

Eventually they both calmed down. George spoke first. "All right, Freddie, let's run it. Hermione Granger, and...."

Fred rolled his eyes. "Ronald Weasley, obviously. And good for the little bloke, I might add."

George shook his head. "Not a chance. I mean, them together, sure, but...Did you see that million-Galleon grin? There's only one thing that makes a girl smile like that and it starts with the letter 'O'...and ends with 'O,' and maybe has an 'O' in the middle."

Fred feigned confusion. "Toronto?"

George smiled and wagged his finger at Fred. "Starts with a 'T,' now doesn't it?" His smile faded into a concentrated scowl as he stared at the now blank wall where the door had been. "As I was saying, whoever did that to our Hermione did a _bang-up_ job." He chuckled at his own pun and then glanced at his brother. "Has Ron ever been with a woman, much less satisfied one? That takes long practice, endurance, and fortitude, as we both know. Besides, he and Lavender Brown have been joined at the lips all night. The pathetic thing is that I actually want you to be right, but I don't think that you are. Is Ronald Weasley your final answer? Because I'll happily take your money."

Fred frowned, now also staring at the wall. 

George took a deep breath and continued. "I'm going to go with Victor Krum. Familiar territory for both of them. And he's a professional athlete, so you know he's got to have staying power."

Fred sighed, wavering. "It's a long shot but I'm going to go with Cormac McLaggen, speaking of athletes," he finally decided. "Ten Galleons."

George attempted to suppress a smile, unsuccessfully. "Nice knowing you, brother." They shook hands solemnly. Then, they settled down to wait. And wait. Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. They exchanged a worried glance. Whoever was in there was either paranoid, careful, or both, which was baffling because Hermione was Head Girl, smart, beautiful, and up until then, unattainable. In other words, whoever had been in there with her had no reason to hide as far as the twins were concerned. 

"Maybe she was in there alone," George whispered. 

Fred smirked. Now, he was the one to lean against the statue, practicing his sleight of hand with the Galleon piece while George kept watch. "It _is_ the Room of Requirement," he said. "Maybe what she _required_ was some time to herself and some sort of a--"

"Shhh!" George hissed. Fred turned around quickly. With a scrape, the door manifested in the solid stone wall and then slowly opened. The twins both held perfectly still, holding their collective breath. The mysterious second figure emerged: tall, immaculately dressed in black and silver. Handsome, arrogant features. Long blond hair. The door disappeared. Lucius Malfoy turned, leaned against the wall as Hermione had done, and smiled triumphantly. After a few heartbeats, he walked the way that she had, and then he too disappeared around the corner.

The twins were not smiling now. All they could do was exchange a stunned glance. "Bloody hell," they said at the same time. 

CHAPTER 1: CHICKEN

_Six weeks earlier..._

In the spring of Hermione Granger's 7th year at Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy was released from Azkaban prison. His name was cleared and his former prestige was restored, at least to the public eye. Hermione heard the news during breakfast in the Great Hall. Ron shoved a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ under her nose, which declared in a banner headline, _Former Death Eater Lucius Malfoy Cleared of All Charges, Released from Azkaban Prison; Full Pardon Granted by Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour._

“What ‘former’?” Hermione asked Ron, before dropping the paper on the table. Ron shrugged. Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper. “And what of the Order?”

Ron leaned in towards her. Luckily no one sitting near them was paying attention. “From what I’ve heard, they’ll only take action if something, you know, _bad_ happens.” 

Hermione frowned and glanced down the hall. The Slytherins were eyeing the two of them balefully, Draco seated at their center. To their chagrin, Draco stood and made his way towards them, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle. "Define _bad_ ," Hermione muttered as Draco came closer. Draco was tall and handsome; his face would have had the perfection of a marble bust if it weren’t always twisted in an arrogant sneer. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron swore under his breath. 

Draco sat beside Hermione without being asked, straddling the bench casually and facing her. He leaned one elbow on the table and rested his fingers on his temple, leering at her. “Yes?” Hermione asked, even while knowing full well she shouldn't engage. 

Draco took his fingers off the side of his head. He tapped the paper and smirked. “You Muggle-lovers will be in for it,” he said. “My father has been re-instated on the Board of Governors.”

Hermione cursed inwardly, but didn’t give Draco the satisfaction of witnessing her distress. 

“Yes,” Draco continued in a haughty voice, looking at no one in particular, “I should think that a few much-needed changes shall happen around here shortly.” He looked back at Ron and Hermione, his gray eyes glittering. “And you Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers will get what’s coming to you.”

Hermione pretended to stifle a yawn. "You really need to think up a new insult for me, Malfoy," she said. "That particular one lost its impact a long time ago. But for now you can just piss right off." She made shooing motions with her hand. "Go on. Slither on back to your hole."

Unperturbed, Draco raised an eyebrow. "Not very friendly today, are we, Granger?"

Hermione smiled, deciding to change her approach to one never attempted with Draco. Her eyes flicked to Ron, who was glaring at Draco. "Friendly?" Hermione asked, looking back at Draco. She pitched her voice low. "Is _that_ what you want now?" She leaned in towards Draco and let her hand drift down the bench towards his parted legs. Instantaneously, the smirk slid off of Draco's face and he almost knocked Crabbe over in his haste to get off of the bench and away from her.

"You stay away from me, Mudblood," he said, clearly going for derision, but only managing to sound panicked. 

Hermione shrugged and turned back to the paper. "You came over here, remember? I just can't keep up with you, Draco. Hot one minute, cold the next. I shudder to think what Pansy would think of your behavior towards me."

"Wait, but I didn't--I mean..."

Hermione turned back towards him. "You'd better get your story straight before you go back to her," she said sharply. 

"You'll regret this, Granger," was all Draco could muster. He straightened his robes and then headed back to the Slytherin table without another word, his entourage behind him. 

Hermione grinned at Draco's retreating back and turned back to Ron, who was looking at her with a mix of admiration and disgust. "What was that?" he asked.

"Fun, Ronald. It was a game of chicken." Ron looked at her with total befuddlement. Hermione sighed impatiently. "It's a Muggle game where you drive two cars straight at each other and the first one to swerve is the chicken. In this instance, it's obviously Malfoy."

Ron paused for a moment. "Cockatrice," he said, comprehension dawning on his face.

"What?" Now it was Hermione's turn to look befuddled. 

"We call it cockatrice and it's played on broomsticks. Bloody dangerous if you ask me. Fred and George used to play it in the backyard."

"Which one swerved?"

Ron scowled. "Neither of them. They both broke their noses when they crashed into each other, the idiots. Mum was furious."

Hermione looked back at the Slytherin table, and to her delight, she saw that Draco was now embroiled in a heated argument with Pansy, who was gesturing in Hermione's direction. She turned back to Ron once more. "Anyway, did you see the look on Draco's face? Priceless..."

"But you weren't going to...I mean..." Ron trailed off awkwardly.

Hermione folded the newspaper in half and then quarters. Lucius Malfoy still looked out at her with contempt, important enough to be placed above the fold and by the looks of it, completely aware of that fact. Hermione flipped the newspaper over so his face was replaced by a story about Flourish and Blott's renovation. "With the likes of Malfoy?" Hermione finally said. "Not if you paid me." She stood. "Really, Ron, shame on you for even entertaining the thought." She collected the newspaper from the table and then walked out of the Great Hall, aware of both Ron's and Draco's eyes on her, the former bemused, the latter malevolent. 

The next day brought another shocking headline, one that verified Draco's statements. Not only was the new board announced (which was now made up of half “former” Death Eaters), but it was also announced that they would be visiting the school regularly for “educational quality inspections.” Additionally, Muggle attacks were on the rise, ones that were committed in ways that were clearly magical to the trained eye.

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny had all been hanging around the Gryffindor common room talking about both incidents. Spring holiday had started that evening, and the school had virtually emptied of boarders after last classes as students headed back home to visit families. The only Gryffindors left behind were the four of them. At this time of night, they were all staring glumly at the floor, having discussed the Malfoys, both Draco and Lucius, the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix to the point that they now were just going around in circles.

Hermione stood suddenly. “I’m taking a walk,” she announced. 

“I’ll go with you,” Ginny said, standing also. They climbed through the portrait hole and headed down the stairs. The castle was silent as they walked, the halls and corridors devoid of their usual bustle of feet. Their path took them past Professor McGonagall’s classroom, where they heard raised voices. They peered in and saw McGonagall and Snape arguing heatedly. Ginny pulled Hermione behind a nearby statue, out of view, but where they could still eavesdrop.

“It’s impossible, Severus,” came McGonagall’s voice, crisp and decisive as always.

“I'll grant you it is quite difficult, but it is not impossible. We simply need the proper components for the potion,” Snape answered.

“And then?”

“Well, can you perform the ritual?”

“Of course I can, if you can acquire the necessary items. But where will you get powdered silver dragon blood? Real, pure, concentrated silver dragon blood? I know the school doesn’t supply it; it’s far too dangerous. Not to mention expensive. And rare. And completely illegal.” The indignation in McGonagall’s voice carried as clearly as her words.

There was a moment of silence. Hermione peered around the statue. The two teachers stood facing each other, arms crossed, in an apparent stare down. Snape finally spoke. “I don’t see any other way,” he said, almost apologetically, “We need a fail-proof ritual this time, one that will tell us where the Death Eaters are at all times, and this is one of the only ones that does not technically constitute Dark Arts.”

“I know, Severus,” McGonagall said wearily. “But powdered, concentrated silver dragon blood? Again, where could you possibly get it?” 

“As it happens...I know of one source,” Snape answered, his voice soft, almost subdued. "But you won't like it."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “Not—“

Snape nodded. “The Malfoys. I have it on good authority that Lucius had a decent quantity of it, back when, well…” He trailed off. 

“But we cannot simply ask him to give us some,” McGonagall said. "Seeing as how he is one of the main wizards against whom we would use it."

Snape sighed. “We’ll think of something,” he said. "We always do."

McGonagall pursed her lips. “And Lucius Malfoy is the one possible source that you know of?”

“Minerva, you know the legend; the Malfoys are the only source.” 

McGonagall shook her head again, her mouth a tight line. “Impossible,” was all she said as she turned and walked toward the door. Hermione ducked behind the statue as McGonagall stormed out, trailed by Snape. They both strode down the hall, neither speaking. Tentatively, Ginny and Hermione emerged and stared at each other in shock for a minute.

Ginny lowered her brows, pondering. “Powdered silver dragon blood. Wow, I've never seen it, or even heard of anyone who has it. I wonder which ritual they meant.”

Hermione sighed, and started walking away from the classroom, her footsteps echoing off of the corridor's stones. “It’s called Vigilant Presence. Performed correctly, it can make it so the person or persons upon whom it is performed are tracked at all times by the caster. Silver dragon blood is the rarest of all, and the most powerful.”

“Is the spell like the Marauder’s Map?” Ginny asked her.

“Sort of, if the Marauder's Map showed thought and intention.” Hermione looked down the hall. The torches made the shadows seem enormous; the castle seemed even more alive than usual with the majority of the students absent. Hermione continued. "The ritual scraped through the Destructive Magic Limitation Act by one only vote, you know, so Snape is right: it is just barely non-Dark Arts, but I can see why they want it so much. With Lucius Malfoy released from Azkaban, the Death Eaters are more dangerous than ever now.” 

They walked around the corner, and saw none other than the new board of directors heading their direction, led by Lucius Malfoy himself. There was no way to hide this time. Ginny and Hermione glanced at each other then walked towards the group of wizards and witches approaching. They attempted to act as inconspicuous as possible. As they passed the group, Hermione glanced at Lucius out of the corner of her eye, sizing him up. She hadn't seen him since the Department of Mysteries, and had been so consumed in staying alive against his fellow Death Eaters, she hadn't really given him much thought.

He was tall, dressed in his usual rich black robes with their silver serpent clasps. His matching walking stick tapped the flagstones as he walked, the sound ringing off the stone walls, his every move radiating superiority. Hermione was startled to see that he was appraising her in a similar manner, and their eyes made contact for a split second. 

His eyes were his most striking feature, the same gray as Draco's, but even colder and more arrogant, seemingly missing nothing as they gave her a once-over. In the instant that he registered her stare, disdain settled on his handsome features, and he looked ahead again as if nothing had happened, and walked away with his associates, the tapping of his walking stick his herald. 

Hermione stopped and turned to watch the group stride away. "Pity he's such a nasty piece of business; he's definitely easy on the eyes,” Ginny said. 

Hermione whirled to face her, a look of incredulity on her face. 

“What is actually _wrong_ with you, Ginny? He tried to kill Harry! He’s a Death Eater!”

Ginny cleared her throat, nonplussed, her mouth twitching. “ _Former_ Death Eater, Hermione. For Merlin's sake, show some respect. And to be fair, a lot of people have come close to killing Harry, either intentionally or accidentally. Are you going to hate Dobby, too? Because he's on that list as well as Professor Lupin who, by the way, tried to kill _you_ as well. Oh, yes, and the Whomping Willow. Are you going to cut it down?”

Hermione ignored her. “And a grown-up, not to mention married."

“Did you just say 'a grown-up?'” Ginny paused. “That's adorable. And now he’s just gotten out of prison, so he has to be really, you know..." She looked up at the arched stone ceiling and snapped her fingers a few times. "What's the word I'm looking for? It's right on the tip of my tongue. _Corny?_ No, that's not it." She looked back at Hermione, all while barely suppressing a smirk. "Now it's going to drive me mad." 

Hermione had to laugh at that. “Ginny, really. Is that all you ever think about? When did you get so boy crazy?”

Ginny pointed down the hall. “ _That_ is no boy. Just wait, Hermione,” she said ominously. Hermione knew that Ginny was not as innocent as Ron liked to think, but Hermione had had more important things to do during her time at Hogwarts than experiment with the opposite sex much, despite any curiosity. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued her walk down the corridor. Ginny was too flippant about these matters by half. As if reading her mind, Ginny said, “You’re too much of a prude anyway. I'd wager ten Galleons he’s thinking about you.”

“Stop, Ginny. To him, I’m just some Muggle-born scum not even worth a tenth of a second of his time. And he’s …just…completely evil.”

“And _completely_ looking at you.” Ginny grinned, unrelenting.

“No he wasn’t.” Hermione blushed idiotically anyway. 

Ginny noticed. "And don't tell me you weren't looking at him. It's all right to look, you know. Everyone does."

“Oh, shut it,” Hermione said with as much dignity as she could muster as they walked down the empty hall. They walked farther down the corridor, back in the direction of their common room. Hermione sighed once more. “If only we could get that blood for them,” she said. She stopped and looked behind her once again.

“So, do you want to ask Mr. Malfoy, or do you want me to?” asked Ginny. She stopped as well and folded her arms. 

Hermione smiled despite herself. “That won’t do any good,” she said, “ ‘Excuse me, Mr. Death Eater, might we please have your dangerous, rare, expensive, oh yes, and illegal ritual component so that we can spy on you and your friends and stop whatever evil plots you're hatching?’”

Ginny shrugged. “Might work,” she said, “If we asked nicely. Quite honestly, we might have better success than Professor Snape.” 

"Wait, what?" 

When Ginny spoke again, her tone had changed, becoming serious. "Well, young women have assets that men, particularly older men, find...appealing." Her voice dropped. "Dare I say irresistable?"

Hermione put her hands on her hips, her guard now up. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, what exactly do you mean?"

Ginny took her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “I mean if we, and when I say _we_ , I really mean _you_ , asked very... _very_...nicely,” she said, pitching her voice low. 

Hermione looked at her warily. “All right, it's no longer funny."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "And I'm not laughing. In leveraging those assets, you could make him an offer, an _exchange_ , that Professor Snape could never hope to match. And all it would take is a few minutes of your life." 

"Ginny, I’m not sure I’m hearing this,” Hermione said. Her heart had started beating faster as her brain caught up to exactly what Ginny was insinuating.

Ginny nodded slowly. "Yes you are," she said, her voice calm. There was a brief pause. Ginny removed her hand. “Well, think about it,” she finally said, then turned quickly, her long red hair swinging behind her. 

Hermione followed her down the hall, walking slowly, reflecting on Ginny’s words.

CHAPTER 2: THE PROPOSITION

When they got back to the common room, they found Ron and Harry playing a sullen game of Wizard Chess. They grunted by way of greeting as the girls climbed back through the portrait hole. “I’m going upstairs,” Hermione said, and then headed to her room. The huge luxury of being Head Girl was having her own room at the top of the tower. It was tiny, and getting up there involved a massive number of stairs, but it was a place to call her own, with that quality that was near-unattainable at Hogwarts: privacy. 

She didn’t bother to light any candles. The sun had set and a nearly-full moon had risen. Hermione crossed the floor and stared out of the window at the empty courtyard below, now bathed in the same azure, lunar glow that graced her own room. The serenity of it all led her mind to wander to the dozens of students who were now laying on beaches in the south of France or were having picnics in the countryside, without a care in the world. Of course, these idyllic visualizations only served to highlight Hermione's own turmoil. She sighed and worried her lower lip with her teeth as she considered her situation.

The real question was, how far would she go for the Order of the Phoenix? Sirius had died for the Order, the Longbottoms had gone mad in its service, and there were always Harry’s parents. What would be Hermione’s test? How much would she sacrifice when tried against the enemy? Bits and pieces of the day's conversations floated through Hermione’s head. 

_”You Muggle-lovers will be in for it…”_

_"With the likes of Malfoy? Not if you paid me."_

_”Lucius had a good quantity of it…”_

_“Ask very...very nicely…”_

_"All it would take is a few minutes of your life."_

Hermione walked to the full-length mirror and stared at it as if it were the Mirror of Erised itself. She looked at herself, really studied herself for a minute. She wasn’t as vain as many of her classmates, and didn’t usually take much time for self-appraisal. She was no bombshell, but she wasn’t bad either; she was of medium height, and had long, wavy, honey-blonde hair that tumbled down her back. Of course, she had no idea how to play up what advantages she did have and she had no clue how to flirt with, much less seduce anyone, Death Eater or not. 

She tilted her head to the side as she tried to imagine what a liaison with someone as dangerous, powerful, and strictly off-limits as Lucius Malfoy would be like, and the thought filled her with a strange and foreign excitement, mingled with the horror of what and who he was. She watched her mirror image's lips form a tight line, accompanied by a firm head shake. No way would she be able to do it. Lucius would certainly say no, for starters, and if by some slim ghost of a chance he said yes...well, there was the actual execution to consider. She had no idea how something like that would even go. She barely had thought about it with a reasonable male, much less a thoroughly evil one. 

Were it to happen, the tryst would be unscrupulous on every possible level, an idea that filled her with a reckless delight for which she judged herself harshly. To be honest, there was almost no one who would be less suitable for her to engage with in an intimate way. Lucius Malfoy wasn't some lovable troublemaker, like Fred or George Weasley. He was a convicted Death Eater who made even his awful son Draco look like a Pygmy Puff by comparison. Hermione shook her head, this time more slowly, ashamed of herself for even considering it. She thought also of what everyone she knew would think of it. They would be horrified, disgusted, disappointed, angry...At least were she to do it, she would be doing it for a good reason...right? This time her firm head shake was a nod. It would be out of loyalty to the Order, nothing more. 

After a moment, Hermione turned to the side. She was wearing part of her school uniform. It was too warm for a robe, and the dress code relaxed during the holiday. She wore the pleated skirt and Mary Jane shoes, along with the white button-down shirt. With the warmth of the day, she had loosened the Gryffindor tie, unbuttoned her top button, and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt earlier, lending a casual air to her usually prim appearance. 

Just then, Hermione heard a quiet knock at the door. "Come in," she said. 

Ginny entered silently and closed the door behind her. 

Hermione crossed the room and picked up a book from a chair, _The 235th Edition of the Compendium of Non-Tradable Substances, Revision D,_ leafed through it until she found what she was looking for, and then handed it over to Ginny, who read the excerpt out loud:

"Silver Dragon Blood: Category A Non-Tradable Substance 

"Class I (Flammability/Volatility) 10: Extremely volatile, explosive with heat or spark source, rarely with pressure. Highly flammable.

"Class II (Narcotic/Pharmacological Properties) 10: Fatal if actual substance or its vapors are inhaled, swallowed, or injected in amounts greater than 10mg.  
Therapeutic Effects: None noted* (*anecdotally, some have reported increased mental clarity, physical stamina, and ability to perform magic, but studies to quantify these effects have been considered unethical)  
Toxic Effects: hallucinations, delusions, psychosis, death  
Antidotes: None noted

"Class III (Magical properties) 10: Comprehensive list is beyond the scope of this entry. Refer to appendix 6A through 7J for a complete list of applicable rituals and spells, cross-referenced with examples. Note: many spells, potions, and rituals conducted with this substance are considered Dark Arts, and are thus illegal in accordance with Wizengamot Statute 345.49: The Destructive Magic Limitation and Restriction Act or 1854.

"Class IV (Availability/Market Value) 10: Considered extremely rare and non-replaceable. As of this edition, Silver Dragons are extinct. They are considered to have been the most powerful of the Old Dragons (including the Greater Wyrms and all Wyverns). Legend states that the last Silver Dragon was killed and its blood collected by Pierre Malfoy in 1504. Silver Dragon blood is available in the form of dried and concentrated powder. Its (ever-increasing) street value is estimated to be 1,500 G/g, although it is only available on the Black Market, where it may be mixed with other substances of questionable purity.

"Class V (Sanctions for possession, as applicable) 10: All offenses include possession of any amount:  
First offense: Three years in Azkaban Prison

Second offense: Ten years in Azkaban Prison

Third offense: 20 years in Azkaban Prison."

Ginny finished reading and handed the book back to Hermione. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” 

Hermione nodded, putting the book back on the chair. “It looks that way. Please, Ginny, I’m really going to need your help.”

Ginny smiled slightly. "Come to our room," she said. "I have the very thing." Hermione followed her back down a floor. Once in her own dormitory, Ginny darted over to her chest and got out a pair of scissors. She took an empty wooden box that had once held a cauldron and dragged it over to the mirror. Then she lit a few candles. “Stand on this,” Ginny said to Hermione, pointing to the box. Hermione raised an eyebrow and stood on the box.

Ginny knelt and cut into the hem of Hermione’s pleated skirt. She carefully cut off six inches, making it fall far above Hermione’s knees. “Ginny, that’s against the rules,” she said.

Ginny gave her a withering look. "As opposed to seducing a Death Eater who's also a married Board Member to obtain an illegal and dangerous ritual component to use against him and lie to him about it?" 

Hermione had to smile at that. "Well, when you put it that way..."

Ginny took her wand and performed a simple hemming charm, which took care of the raw edges. “Lose the tie and unbutton another button,” Ginny ordered. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “This is never going to work,” she said, acquiescing to Ginny's instructions. “Why would he possibly want a filthy little Muggle-born like me?”

Ginny looked at her, ticking off the reasons on her fingers. “You just said it. He’s corrupt, he’s been in prison for almost two years." She snapped her fingers once and smiled in triumph. " _Horny,_ that was the word I was looking for earlier. I knew if I just waited long enough, it would--" She cut off at Hermione's expression of disdain. Ginny cleared her throat and continued, "And he hates Muggle-borns. Even though you blew it off, I saw the way he looked at you; as I said before, you're already on his mind. And you're hardly little; you're as legal as he is, although yes, you're much younger than him, but be assured, that's also an advantage in this case. Believe me, he’ll love the idea.”

Hermione felt her brows furrow. “You did say he _hates_ Muggle-borns, right?”

Ginny spoke to her as if she were a simple-minded child. “We aren’t trying to make him fall in love with you. We are trying to barter. His type is obsessed with purity so imagine offering up to him the one and only thing about you that he would consider pure. He won't say no.” 

Hermione shuddered. "What a horrible way to put it," she said.

Ginny stood and folded her arms. “Hermione, you are trading one thing for another, so you’d better accept what you’re going to do. Besides, you've got to know your enemy and this is what he'll think and why he'll go for it.”

Hermione nodded. “I suppose you’re right; it just sounds so heartless.”

“It is.” Ginny put the scissors back and came back with a brush as Hermione stepped down from the box. "And so is he. You mustn’t have any illusions about how this will be,” Ginny said, "You're going to use him and he's going to use you. I cannot state it in simpler terms. And don't worry, no one deserves it more than he does." Hermione was stunned at her _sang froid,_ but said nothing, just sat on the edge of one of the room’s beds. “It’s your first time,” Ginny continued, pulling a brush through Hermione’s unruly hair. “He must be made aware of that, otherwise we may have nothing; in fact, we really must play that up. You have to seem scared and, well, somewhat desperate, really.”

Hermione laughed mirthlessly. “That will be easy enough; it’s pretty much the truth. You know, he probably won’t even give us the right thing. If he has it, he probably has a whole store of other things too that would pass as silver dragon blood.”

Ginny sighed. “I thought of that as well. If only there were a way to make him keep his word.” Ginny thought for a moment, glancing around the room. Suddenly her eyes alighted upon something. “Yes!” she said suddenly, “that’s it!” 

"What?" Hermione asked. 

Ginny crossed the room and stood next to her bedside table, indecision now weighing on her face. "You aren't going to like it."

"What?" Hermione said again. "Just tell me."

Ginny picked up the item in question. 

“Colin Creevey’s camera? Hold on, you’re not actually suggesting…?” 

Ginny nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Imagine the look on the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ ’s face when, or if, photographs of the wizarding world’s most affluent and influential, not to mention married, man cross his desk, especially if those photographs are as incriminating as these will be. The fact that he just got out of prison makes it so much the better." She made an arch in the air with her hands as if placing text: "'Newly Pardoned Former Death Eater and Hogwarts Board Member Lucius Malfoy Caught Inflagrante with Hogwarts Student.'” 

Hermione looked at her incredulously. "All right, _Rita,_ relax. You do realize that _I'll_ be in those pictures as well, don't you? Also, he'll kill us both without losing any sleep if this turns into something that could threaten him."

Ginny licked her lips. “Look, it's not as if I want to witness this, much less take pictures of it, but without them, we have no insurance," she said, "Do you have a better idea? I mean, can you think of any other way to make him keep his word? Of course I hope we won’t need them, but we should definitely have them as back up."

Hermione frowned. "Can't I just appraise whatever he gives us?"

"I don't know, can you? You've never even seen silver dragon blood. Besides, if you don't seem innocent and a little bit gullible, he won't be nearly as likely to take the bait. He has to believe he's getting the better end of the bargain, or this won't work at all." Ginny looked at the camera once more. "I’ll borrow Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. He'll never even see me." 

“Good thinking,” Hermione said. There was a pause. “Where do you think they are?” she asked, staring out the window once more, “Do you think he’s still here?” 

Ginny checked her watch. “Maybe. They’re probably in the staff lounge, if they’re anywhere.” She yawned.

Hermione looked at her, one eyebrow raised. 

“What? You want to ask tonight?” Ginny asked.

“There’s no time like the present,” Hermione said in a falsely cheerful voice, stepping away from the window. Both of them knew that what Hermione really meant was that she should ask before she completely lost her nerve. 

Ginny eyed her. “Well, then, have some of this.” She went back to her trunk and after digging around for a moment, removed a glass bottle of yellowish brown liquid. She uncorked it and held it out to Hermione. 

Hermione wrinkled up her nose in disgust at the sight of it. “What is it?” she asked.

“Courage Elixir. I made it in Potions class last week.” 

Hermione looked at her in disbelief, but took the bottle. “In for a penny,” she muttered, and took a swallow. It tasted like overripe bananas and rubber cement and seared a line of fire from her throat to her stomach as she attempted to swallow it. She coughed, struggling for air. “No, really,” she said while between breaths, “What is it? It's horrific.”

Ginny smirked. “Butterbeer and Firewhisky. But it will give you courage. Have another sip.”

Screwing up her eyes, Hermione did as she was bid. It didn’t burn so much this time, and she felt more relaxed as her body absorbed the alcohol. After one more swallow she handed the bottle back to Ginny who re-corked it and placed it back in her trunk. “Ready?” she asked.

Hermione poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher, swished it around her mouth to chase out the taste of Ginny's Courage Elixir, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Yes,” she said. They came back down to the common room. Harry and Ron had fallen asleep on the couch, their mouths hanging open, both of them snoring lightly, their game unfinished. Their chess pieces milled around in a desultory way, as if unsure what to do now. Hermione and Ginny sneaked by the boys and crawled back through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady barely paid them any attention as they made their way down the stairs. 

When they came to the ground floor, they both stood stock-still, listening. They could hear a babble of muted voices from down the hall toward the staff room. They waited for a few moments, and then darted down the hallway, staying in the shadows. 

They hid behind a statue of Marvyn the Melodious outside the staff room door and waited. They didn’t have to wait long. In a few minutes, the door opened, and the wizards and witches started to pour out. Talking quietly among themselves, they made their way in twos and threes out of the staff room, out into the corridor, then finally out into the courtyard.

“No Lucius,” Ginny whispered to Hermione. 

“Wait,” Hermione said. Her legs were starting to cramp from crouching behind the statue. Hermione strained to hear. The staff door was opened only slightly, creating a slim blade of golden light on the flagstones. The people inside the room were making an effort to keep their voices down, however, one of them was the unmistakable drawl of Lucius Malfoy. Hermione smiled. 

In a few moments, Lucius strode out the door purposefully and crossed into the moonlit quad, blessedly alone. Someone closed the staff room door from the inside, and the candle light disappeared. Hermione watched Lucius, the moonlight shining in his long blond hair. Ginny prodded her in the back. “Get going,” she hissed, “or you’re going to lose him. Don't think about it, just do it.” 

Hermione got up, the pins and needles in her legs making her curse silently as she darted through the quad, stalking her quarry. She headed him off quickly, and then slipped behind a tree to consider her approach. She didn’t have to think for long. Lucius stopped and turned, his cloak swirling around him. “Who’s there?” he asked, authority and suspicion blending in his voice like meticulously measured potion components.

The practical part of Hermione wanted to stand still and silent, let him go by without interruption, and forget this entire idea. Instead, she counted to three, took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the tree. She didn’t have to act nervous; she was terrified. “Ah, it’s you,” Lucius said smoothly, recognizing her, his words now dripping with derision, “Miss...Granger, isn’t it?” 

Hermione nodded dumbly. Her heart was beating wildly and a metallic taste had coated the inside of her mouth. “And why were you following me?” Lucius demanded. Hermione tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Lucius raised an eyebrow, and tipped his head to one side, waiting for her. 

“Well, sir, I was wondering if…” She suddenly felt very stupid. This would never work. Oh well, it was too late to turn back. _Don't think about it; just do it._

“If?” Lucius prompted.

“If-you-had-any-powdered-silver-dragon-blood,” Hermione blurted out, then cringed as she heard the words she had just let out of her mouth and considered the insanity of actually speaking them out loud. 

Lucius sneered at her. “Any what?”

Hermione sighed. Then an idea occurred to her. She took another deep breath, forcing herself to slow down. “Silver dragon blood. I need some for my 7th Year Final Project. I'm trying a ritual that involves it, and Professor Snape doesn’t have any, but said that you might. And if I may be so bold, seeing as you’re on the Board of Governors now, I thought perhaps you’d be willing to help out a Hogwarts student. Sir.” Hermione now let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, shocked that the lie had come so easily. She bit her lip, watching Lucius’ reaction. 

To Hermione's surprise, Lucius was smiling outright. "Surely you must know that silver dragon blood is illegal,” he said in a patronizing tone, “used primarily in rituals seen as Dark Arts in the eyes of the law."

"Oh, mine's not Dark Arts," Hermione said hastily. "Sir."

He closed eyes briefly and sighed as if Hermione had said something monumentally stupid and then opened them again and looked at her, his gray eyes alight with amusement once more. "I realize that, Miss Granger. That's hardly my point. My point is that you would dare to presume I have some. Taken to its conclusion, one might surmise that you presume I, too, am a Dark Wizard. You are a most impertinent young lady.” He caressed the top of his serpent walking stick with his thumb, a surprisingly sensual gesture that caught Hermione's eye and mesmerized her. She had never noticed how well-shaped his hands were. Unbidden, the image sprang into her mind of those same hands on her body, pushing her clothes off, caressing her naked skin. She felt heat rise to her face.

However, in response to Lucius' statement, Hermione clamped her mouth shut, although the first thing that came to her mind was that the entire reason she was asking him was exactly because he was a Dark Wizard. But she held her tongue; as nervous as she was, she knew anything that she might say to either confirm or deny what Lucius just said could blow the entire deal. Then again, he might just be baiting her. She found that thought strangely comforting and it fueled her confidence just a little.

“And what if, hypothetically speaking, I did have some?” Lucius said suddenly, smile gone, all business. “You could never afford to buy it from me, nor would I simply give it to you. It's far too valuable.” 

Hermione nodded. _Careful,_ she thought. She let her face fall in disappointment. "You're right. It _is_ valuable, unique even." She looked at the ground. The grass was already wet with dew, the drops sparkling like diamonds. She channeled that shameful but authentic part of her that actually wanted the exchange to happen and concentrated on what she would say next. "But...perhaps there is a way I could pay you...hypothetically speaking,” she said, keeping her eyes demurely downcast. She put her hands behind her back. “What if I gave you something unique in exchange, something that I only have one of?” She approached him, closing the distance between them, putting one foot in front of the other, moving her hips slightly as she walked. She made a mental note to thank Ginny for the Courage Elixir.

“What do you mean?” Lucius asked quietly. 

Hermione risked a glance at his face, and saw that he was giving her body another appraisal, this one slower and far more calculated than the one in the hall earlier, from her wet shoes, her bare legs, her shortened, pleated skirt, and her unbuttoned shirt to her wavy hair that swung softly behind her. “What if I gave you something that I can only give to one person?” She looked into his eyes as she said that, studying his reaction. His expression didn’t change, but she was gratified to see his eyes widen a tiny fraction.

She was now less than an arm’s length from him, and she reached out and stroked the opening of his cloak. He looked down. The time had come to play her one and only ace. _Don't think about it; just do it._ “What if,” she whispered, tilting her face up to his, “I gave you something I can only give to one man?” She touched the soft velvet, letting her fingers luxuriate in its rich nap. Her heart beat so fast, she was sure it would come out of her throat as a strange tension and heat built below her abdomen.

"Be...more...specific," Lucius whispered back. Now there were no traces of humor or irony on his face; his look was cold, as if he flatly did not believe her capable of stating her intention to him in clear, irrevocable terms.

Hermione swallowed. If seven years of magical education had taught her anything, it was that words held tremendous power. She thought back to her conversation with Ron about playing chicken. Lucius was savvy enough to know exactly what was on the table, but was going to force her to say it. Once it was said, it could not be taken back, but in this version of chicken, she dared not swerve. She took one more breath and forced herself to make her voice low but clear. "My virginity...for your silver dragon blood." Her words made it real and concrete and she shivered with foreboding before bracing herself for the tongue-lashing she was surely about to receive about propositioning married men, purebloods, board members, etc. 

“I’ll think about it,” Lucius said coolly, but the triumphant look in his eyes belied the rest of his demeanor. 

Hermione froze, attempting to keep the shock she felt from showing on her features. _It wasn't a no. He didn't say no,_ she thought, _this might actually happen. He didn't swerve either and this is no game. What will happen if neither of us gives way?_ She suspected it would result in a collision with consequences far more detrimental than broken noses. She dropped her hand and stepped back. Without another word, Lucius turned sharply and walked off across the quad. Hermione didn’t move a muscle until he had disappeared. Then her legs turned to jelly and she sat on the damp ground. She took a long and shaky breath. After a moment, Ginny came out into the quad. 

Hermione felt stunned, her gaze still over the quad in the direction Lucius had gone. “Hermione,” Ginny said. Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione,” she said again, louder. Hermione started and looked up at Ginny. She smiled weakly. 

“I did it. Of all the things I have ever faced in the name of the Order, that was the most frightening.” She laughed, mildly hysteric. “I just propositioned a Death Eater.” That one statement sent a thrill through Hermione’s body and solidified the whole evening for her, when earlier it had seemed as if she was only watching someone who looked and sounded exactly like her follow and then speak with Lucius Malfoy. 

“So, what did he say?” Ginny asked, oblivious to Hermione’s shock, as she reached down to pull her up. 

Hermione took her hand. “He said he’d think about it,” she said as Ginny helped her off of the wet ground. She brushed herself off, if for no other reason than to keep her hands from shaking.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Well, that’s an emphatic 'yes' if I've ever heard one,” she said. 

“Yay?” Hermione said darkly, although she had to admit that she was excited by the hungry way that Lucius had looked at her tonight, minute though his reaction was. She felt, well, powerful. She knew she was powerful magically, and that was a remarkable feeling, but this was wholly different. When she cast magic, it was with logic, competence, and practice, and her power stemmed from that. This new-found sexual power that she seemed to have was an ungovernable, illogical, disorderly force and it frightened her as much as it excited her. The peril, she knew, was that this power was double-edged, equally satisfied with tasting the flesh and blood of either of the two of them. 

Ginny and Hermione started walking back towards Gryffindor tower. “While you were out here, I heard the governors were coming back three days from now, one more time before the other students return, and every three days until further notice,” said Ginny.

Hermione groaned. “Three days? No, that’s too much. I might recover my sanity during that time, and then where would we be?” 

Ginny shrugged. "No worse than we were before. But you won't back out, and neither will he. This will happen." They walked back across the wet quad in silence, each in her own head. In the common room, Harry and Ron had gone to bed, and after saying good night to each other, Hermione and Ginny did the same. 

Hermione got undressed and lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She re-played the conversation with Lucius over and over, analyzing it, mulling over each look, each word. She felt alternately elated, concerned, frightened, anxious, and sometimes all four at once. Eventually she closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.


	2. 3: Girl Talk; 4: Preparation; 5: Reflection; 6: Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny discovers her own motivations as she and Hermione get ready for the exchange to happen. Hermione reflects on a previous experience with Viktor. During the trade-off, Lucius makes a counter-offer that Hermione mistakes for an act of mercy. At the conclusion, Hermione issues Lucius a warning. 
> 
> _"Don't worry," Ginny said, reassuringly. "You're just having your first sexual encounter with the cruel patriarch of the oldest and most powerful pureblood wizarding family in England. What could possibly go wrong?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: Lucius is not very nice to Hermione on this go-around.

CHAPTER 3: GIRL TALK

The three days passed all too quickly and on the third day, Ginny and Hermione began to prepare for the best, or the worst, depending on how they wanted to look at it. “This will never work,” Hermione said for the ten thousandth time. 

Ginny sighed patiently. They were in the dormitory. Ginny was sitting on her bed, digging through a “borrowed” canvas post sack. She brought forth the magic camera and pointed her wand at it. _“Silencio,”_ she commanded. 

Hermione did a double take. "Good thinking," she said. "At least one of us is calm." The next moment, she flopped on her back on the bed next to Ginny and covered her eyes with one hand. “What am I doing?” Hermione groaned, “This isn’t me. I would do anything, _anything_ for the Order, and, compared to what some have done or given in its service, this is nothing. Nothing at all. A trifle, an insignificant thing. 'A few minutes of my life,' right? But I'm Head Girl and a Prefect for Merlin's sake. I don’t break the rules, well...not rules as big as these." She sat up suddenly and wrung her hands, her shoulders tensed up almost to her ears. "Oh, these are big rules. They're too big. This isn’t me. I can’t do this, Ginny, I can’t. I’ll never be able to go through with it.” 

"Don't worry," Ginny said, reassuringly. "You're just having your first sexual encounter with the cruel patriarch of the oldest and most powerful pureblood wizarding family in England. What could possibly go wrong?" Ginny was just trying to ease the tension, but she felt an instant twinge of remorse at Hermione's stricken face.

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, Merlin, it’s going to hurt isn’t it? I mean, he’s not going to go easy on me, is he?”

Ginny sighed again. She hoped that this wouldn’t come up. “Well, Hermione, I don’t know. I’ve never slept with him,” she said, making a joke out of it. 

“Ginny! I know that,” Hermione wailed, “I was speaking generally.” 

“Well, Hermione, he ‘generally’ hates Muggle-borns. He ‘generally’ knows that you are a Muggle-born. He may or may not know that you hit his sole heir in the face, but I'm sure he also knows that you ‘generally’ hate Draco and the rest of the Slytherins. I'm sure Draco's talked about you at home and you know he's not saying anything positive. He also probably has a ‘general’ idea that you weren’t telling him the truth.” She stopped pawing through the bag and looked at Hermione. "Oh, and he's a stone-cold bastard."

“So...do you think he’ll, you know, try and hurt me?”

“I really hope not,” Ginny answered, digging through the bag once more. "Although," she looked up sharply, "There's not a doubt in my mind that he'll at least _say_ some unkind things, so prepare yourself for that." Ginny softened at Hermione’s look of dismay. “Hermione, it’s probably not going to be particularly enjoyable, at least not this time around. But that’s not necessarily because it’s him. That’s anyone. It could be someone you were madly in love with, it can still hurt the first time. Best keep your expectations low.” Ginny wasn’t trying to be cruel, but she also didn’t want to lie to Hermione. “I’ve never done it like this. The times I have, it’s been with someone that I like, or liked at the time. And some of those times have been quite fun; I mean, that's the whole idea.” Hermione didn’t look reassured. If anything, she looked even more scared. Ginny got up from the bed, “You need to stop worrying," she said. "The more tense you are, the worse it’s going to be for you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, thanks, that’s a big help,” she said. There was a pause. 

Ginny took a deep breath. "Look, Hermione, I'm going to be honest with you. Do you know the secret to not having your first time hurt?"

"Obviously I don't," Hermione replied shortly.

"This may not work in your case, seeing how apprehensive you are, and who you've chosen as your first lover." Hermione screwed up her face at the word. Ginny continued. "But the secret is to relax and have fun, and by _fun_ , what I really mean is _foreplay._ Letting him touch you, touching him, taking your time and getting into it to the extent that it's possible..."

Hermione looked horrified, as Ginny had feared she would. "Absolutely not," Hermione said. "It's bad enough I'm going to let him have his way with me, but I don't want it to take a second longer than it absolutely has to, and he's going to take the lead anyway, so it doubly won't work."

"Well, there's no harm in asking for what you want."

Hermione shook her head, her mouth set. "No."  


Ginny gave up; she had known she wasn't going to win this one, but she had to try. She rubbed her forehead with one hand. “Suit yourself," she muttered. She dropped her hand and looked back at Hermione. "Do you want him at all?" Ginny asked. "I'm not judging, I swear. But I mean, if you do, just…I don’t know, concentrate on that. Where the mind goes, the body will follow, if you know what I mean. If not, just think of Viktor.” She pronounced it _Week-tor._

"Ha ha," Hermione said, but a fleeting look of guilt crossed her features, giving Ginny pause.

“I sort of wasn't joking," Ginny said. "Listen, I don't know what happened between you two, and it's your business, but if you can take any lessons from that experience, both good and bad, draw on that. Now, I’m going to ask Harry for the Invisibility Cloak." 

She went down the stairs and into the common room. Luckily for her, Harry and Ron were distracted, incidentally arguing about Quidditch players. She tried to act as casual as possible. “Harry, may I please borrow your Invisibility Cloak?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, “It’s in a box under—Hang on. Why do you want it?”

Ginny decided to play coy and see what happened. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” she said, smiling flirtatiously. Harry blinked behind his round glasses. Ron made a gagging face, which Ginny ignored. “C’mon Harry,” she said, playing with the trim on the couch directly behind Harry's head with her finger, looking at him from under her lowered eyelashes, “Don’t you trust me?” 

Harry gulped. “Of course, Ginny” he said, smiling, “It’s under my bed in a box from Fred and George’s place.” 

Ginny beamed. “Thank you, Harry,” she said in a low voice as she climbed the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. She looked behind her as she walked, staring at Harry for a long second, enjoying his intense stare, and then turned back around. She scoffed. It was like cursing fish in a barrel. Boys were so easy; the ten minutes she had spent with him in the broom closet last term had never ceased to pay off. She liked Harry, she truly did, and she enjoyed what they had done in the rare times that they had been alone together, but at the same time, he had something she needed, so she wasn't above playing him just slightly in order to get it. 

It made Ginny think about Hermione's situation as she crouched down and peered under Harry’s bed. Sometimes manipulation was necessary, and Hermione didn't always seem to get that. Hermione had always been honest, almost to a fault; that was her problem, what you saw was exactly what she was, transparent as glass. Ginny was surprised she had handled Lucius with such facility, considering that the whole episode was so much against her nature. To top it off, Hermione had barely even kissed anyone, with the possible exception of Viktor, an episode she had historically been reticent to talk about. Whatever that had encompassed, she had to have some pent up hormones and curiosity. 

Under the bed, the box in question lay next what could only be described as a publication of questionable taste. With six elder brothers, Ginny knew exactly the kind of periodical teenage boys would only store under their beds. Intrigued, she picked it up and unabashedly feasted her eyes. The volume was one certainly not sanctioned by the Hogwarts curriculum; it was titled _Confunded, Cum-filled Cunt: One Witch's Adventures with the Engorgement Charm._ The cover featured a blonde witch being pleasured by a cock of comically prodigious dimensions. Her full breasts bounced enthusiastically with each thrust of the behemoth member and her mouth and eyes widened with shock and pleasure. The cover and the pages were dog-eared as well, which meant that it had been well-loved, and probably not just by Harry.

Ginny felt her mouth curl up in a cunning smile. "Why, Harry, you dirty lad," she said under her breath, although the idea of Harry wanking to it both amused her and turned her on a little. For a moment, she was tempted to steal it from him, just to force him into the awkward position of trying to get it back from her. In the end, she decided not to, as Harry was taking quite the leap of faith in letting her borrow his Invisibility Cloak with no actual clue as to her plans for it, and it would be a poor repayment for his generosity. With a frown of disappointment, Ginny tossed the magazine back under the bed and retrieved the box instead. 

She opened the box and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. Mesmerized, she ran it through her fingers and over her hand, watching them intermittently shimmer and disappear under the magical fabric. She then slung it over her shoulder, closed the box, and pushed it back underneath the bed with her toe, being careful not to disturb Harry's other private possessions. She smiled again. The naughty magazine witch just reminded Ginny that Hermione really needed to lighten up, even though this evening wasn’t going to be easy for her whatever the outcome. The Order was of paramount importance, of course, but Ginny did not envy Hermione in the slightest for what she was about to do, and certainly with whom she was going to do it. Put simply, Hermione was playing with fire. 

Ginny folded the cloak carefully and stood up again. As peril-filled as the plan was, Ginny was confident it would work. She knew that Lucius would not be able to pass up a chance to take advantage of an innocent Mudblood, although it chilled her to think about it in those terms, and she sincerely hoped that Lucius _would_ go easy on her, or that Hermione might even glean _some_ enjoyment from it. Or would enjoying the experience actually be worse for her? They were two equally unappealing options. _She's properly fucked either way,_ the evil part of Ginny's brain reminded her. She felt a stab of conscience for having such an uncharitable thought about her friend, even if it was true. She also knew deep down that losing her virginity in a painful or humiliating way to someone like Lucius Malfoy might scar Hermione for life. 

Ginny shrugged the guilty feeling off. Hermione was an adult, it was her decision, and it was for the good of the Order anyway. Moreover, something had been nagging at the back of Ginny's mind. Although Ginny would never admit this to Hermione, she had long been harboring a desire to give Lucius his comeuppance for his part in Tom Riddle's diary. It was a grudge she had carried for five years. The more Ginny thought about it, the more she believed that this crazy scheme was as good an opportunity as any to revenge herself on Lucius, which was why she was pushing so hard to make it a reality, if she were honest. Although having anything bad happen to Hermione as collateral damage would be truly unfortunate, it was a risk Ginny was willing to take. 

Ginny started down the stairs back down to the common room. She also thought that Hermione was a fool if she believed that Lucius was not going to cheat them. He had absolutely no reason to hold up his end of the bargain, although Ginny was not entirely comfortable with being the photographer on this particular occasion, another thing she could never tell Hermione. To Hermione, Ginny must appear completely in control and not show any weakness whatsoever. It was a strange reversal of their normal roles; Ginny was normally the one to need help from Hermione, and now Ginny was the stable and knowledgeable one. 

Ginny came back into the common room. Harry looked up at her from where he sat on the couch. Ron still sat next to him, now worrying at a piece of peeled up rubber from the sole of his shoe with his finger, ignoring both of them. "Did you find it?" Harry asked. 

"I did," Ginny answered. "It wasn't too _confunding._ " She winked at him. 

Harry became adorably flustered. His eyes darted everywhere except at her face as he scrambled for words. "Uh...did I say it was under my bed? Is that what I said? Is that where it was? I said it was under my bed?" 

Ginny opted to put Harry out of his misery. "I found what I was looking for," she said, keeping her voice soothing. "Thank you, Harry." She smiled sideways at him, before going back up to the girls’ dormitory and Hermione, leaving Harry to stare after her, his green eyes full of apprehensive curiosity. 

CHAPTER 4: PREPARATION

As Hermione waited for Ginny to return with the cloak, she paced the floor, unable to sit still. Her hands moved constantly, one moment pushing her hair behing her ears, the next putting an already frayed and splintered fingernail between her teeth, the next smoothing her skirt. On and on. She just wanted it to be over, if for no other reason than to stop the pounding tide of anxiety. Ginny came back into the room. “So, where is this going to happen?” Ginny asked her, tossing the Invisibility Cloak on the bed. 

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I-I didn’t even think about that.”

Ginny clearly had been expecting this. “Well, I have one idea,” she said. “The half of the hospital wing that’s closed off.”

Hermione looked unconvinced. 

“Think it through," Ginny said patiently, "Madame Pomfrey isn’t going to be there anyway. We’ll break in, ward the door so no one can come in, cast a silencing charm, and have relative privacy.” Ginny looked at Hermione, awaiting confirmation. 

“Well, I suppose we don’t really have an alternative.” Hermione peered out the window. 

Ginny sat on her bed once more and looked in the bag. She held out a small potion bottle to Hermione. “Drink this,” she ordered. 

“What is it?”

“It’s an anti-fertility potion.”

Hermione's eyebrows contracted in distress. “Oh, Merlin, I didn’t think about that either.”

Ginny smiled wryly. “I know you didn’t. I mean, my feeling is that someone like Lucius Malfoy is fastidious enough to be careful in this regard, as I imagine it's a huge point of family pride not to accidentally or intentionally impregnate a Muggle-born, but I think that one Draco wandering around and making trouble is quite enough.” 

Hermione didn't want to spend any time or energy thinking about that possibility, so she took the stopper off the bottle and downed the potion quickly, grimacing. It was loads better than the Courage Elixir and once it was down, it was one less thing to worry about. 

Just then, a movement outside the window caught her attention. Hermione looked more carefully. It was the contingent of governors. Hermione swallowed, breaking out in a cold sweat. “Ginny, I’m scared,” she whispered. 

Ginny walked towards her and placed a reassuring hand on Hermione’s arm. “Hermione, just remember, no matter what happens tonight, I’m your friend, I’ll support you, and I’m here for you.” 

Hermione smiled, the first real smile in days. “Thanks, Ginny.” Her eyes tracked the party crossing the quad. She pulled her shoulders back, her expression hardening. “Let’s go.”

Ginny quickly stuffed the Invisibility Cloak and the camera into the canvas sack and threw it over her shoulder, looking like a guilty cat burglar. Hermione stifled a nervous giggle, and Ginny looked at her sharply. They crept down the stairs to the common room. For once, Ron and Harry were thankfully elsewhere. The girls both exchanged relieved glances, climbed out of the portrait hole, and then quickly sneaked down the hall towards the quad. 

The moon was shining even more brightly than it had the night Hermione had spoken with Lucius; this night the softness was gone: the grounds had turned into sharp shadows and sever angles. Hermione crept through the darkness in the outside corridor, heading towards the staff room. The governors had already gone in and shut the door. “Ginny,” Hermione whispered, “Can you go and cast the shunning spell on the hospital wing?” Ginny nodded. “Good. I’m going to have to wait here, but hurry anyway, it could be minutes or it could be hours, I don’t know.”

Ginny nodded once more, and then smiled at Hermione to silently wish her luck before sneaking down the corridor. Hermione crouched behind the statue, as before, and strained to hear any sound from the inside of the room. She heard a babble of voices and wasn’t able to discern who was who. “Some people would call eavesdropping rude, Miss Granger.” She whirled around, startled. Lucius Malfoy stood over her, staring haughtily down. “Or weren’t you raised better?” Hermione bit back a sharp reply. “Oh, I remember now,” Lucius said softly, “Muggles.” Hermione stood and attempted to smile at him, although it was the last thing she felt like doing. _That's right, Malfoy,_ Hermione thought, _get it out of your system now._

Lucius reached into an inside pocket of his velvet-lined robe and produced an ornate Chinese box, carved with a dragon. “Silver dragon blood, Miss Granger, powdered and concentrated. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said, trying to look neutral. Lucius placed the box back in an inside pocket, his face inscrutable. “As to what you want...before or after?” Hermione asked, eyes dropping to Lucius’ expensive shoes.

“After, Miss Granger.”

“I-I’ll be in the south hospital wing. It’s abandoned and I’ve warded it against intruders.”

“Very well.” Lucius stepped around her and pulled the door to the staff room open, leaving Hermione staring after him. He was giving her nothing, no hint as to what was to happen, what he had in store for her, and that uncertainty was agonizing for Hermione. As soon as the door swung shut, she walked quickly toward the hospital wing, her legs weak. _You have to relax,_ she told herself, _or you’ll_ never _make it through this._ A few minutes later, she arrived at the back entrance to the south hospital wing. She walked through the door and scanned the room for Ginny.

The room had the same polarized blue light as the rest of Hogwarts, illuminated by a few bright, cold shafts of moonlight, which fell like spotlights on the center beds of the ward. The room was so quiet that Hermione could hear the ringing in her own ears. “Ginny?” she stage whispered. 

Ginny appeared suddenly three feet in front of her, camera in hand, and tossed the Invisibility Cloak off of her shoulders. Hermione jumped. Ginny grinned at her. “I think I’m going to be just fine for this,” she said with perverse optimism, and tossed the camera on one of the beds. 

Hermione was not amused. She glanced at the camera. "Just do me one favor," she said. "After you get a few good shots, clear out. This is going to be hard enough for me anyway and the longer you stick around, the higher the chances of your getting caught." 

"All right." Ginny nodded, turning serious. “What now?” she asked. 

Hermione shrugged. “Now we wait.” 

CHAPTER 5: REFLECTION

Hermione hopped onto the nearest bed, sitting on the edge. The bare mattress was stained with Merlin-knew-what and Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. She pointed her wand at it, _"Scourgify,"_ she said. No luck. She shrugged, then looked around at the other beds and realized that she was sitting on the cleanest one. She lay back on the bed and stared at the vaulted ceiling, barely visible beyond the slanting beams of moonlight. 

Hermione tried to clear her mind to keep it from running a list of things that could go wrong, a long, unrelenting maelstrom of worry. Ginny's voice came back to her. _Do you want him at all? If not, think of Viktor_...Viktor. Hermione had actually thought of Viktor quite a bit since the winter of the Triwizard Tournament. And yes, Viktor had kissed her at the Yule Ball, but that's as far as it had gone, both during and after. 

She had been 15, and he 18, which was enough of a reason to stop. Despite what people said about him, Viktor Krum was not stupid; a slip-up with an underage witch could have cost him his career. Not that Hermione would have said anything, but with Rita Skeeter poking around, Viktor had every right to be cautious. Hermione shook her head ruefully, thinking about how an age gap of three years had seemed so vast, ironic in light of what she was about to do. 

Then again, one of the reasons that she had liked Viktor was that his age and experience brought with them maturity that was lacking in the boys her own age, especially ignorant, judgmental, vacillating Ron. And being a world-class athlete with all the discipline, training, and grace that went with it made Viktor a particularly mature 18-year-old. On the other hand, now that she was 18 herself, she realized that she was a very different person than she had been then. 

How much more will that be true when I'm Lucius' age? she thought. She shook her head impatiently; dwelling on the age gap between them was completely unhelpful now, although her mind did try to help by doing useless, stupid arithmetic for her: _He's 43. You're 18 or 19. The Time Turner made a right mess of your age but still...43 - 18 = 25. A quarter of a century separates you two. Two and a half decades..._ And so it went until she willed her mind back into the recesses of memory, and Viktor. 

The most remarkable thing about the Yule Ball was that it was Viktor who had stopped her that night, not the other way around. They had escaped the heat of the Great Hall into the garden, which was frozen solid, but there were still some evergreen shrubs around. They sneaked behind one, finding an unoccupied stone bench. Hermione shivered in her satin gown. Viktor gallantly shrugged out of his fur-trimmed cloak and draped it around her shoulders. She wrapped it around herself, reflecting that Viktor probably had no problem with cold weather. 

On the pretense of adjusting his cloak on her, he pulled her to him, gently. He stroked her hair and tilted her face up to his. Before Hermione could think about what she would do if he were to kiss her, his lips touched hers. She kissed him back unhesitatingly, answering the question without further deliberation. Viktor kissed the same way he played Quidditch, unrestrainedly, knowing he was excellent at it, and yet simply finding joy in that fact, rather than arrogance. 

He also let her take the lead. He didn't use his tongue until Hermione opened her mouth under his. As soon as his tongue found hers, it felt like a line of fire had been drawn from her mouth straight down her body. She kissed him with more intensity, letting the feeling build, that same heat and tension that had stirred the night she had propositioned Lucius. Viktor returned her passion in kind. She let her hands travel into his hair and down the back of his neck. He moved his hands down her back, but stopped short of her rear. 

His hands and his mouth seemed to create a snowball effect, as if the more he touched her, the more she wanted him to. Caught up in the moment, she moved his hand slowly around to the front of her body but before she could get it to where she wanted, he pulled his hand off of her and closed it. He stopped kissing her and hit himself in the thigh lightly with his closed fist. He closed his eyes and shook his head. 

"What?" Hermione asked, confused.

Viktor opened his eyes, but kept shaking his head with a sad smile. 

_"What?"_ Hermione asked again, her voice rising. She felt tears burning in her eyes and if someone had asked her in that moment what she was so angry about, she would have been hard pressed to articulate it. Viktor stood up, sighed and held his hand out to her. Hermione also shook her head. She took his cloak off and handed it back to him. Viktor took his cloak back, draped it over his arm, and then stood for a moment with his hand stretched towards her. She refused to take it, just sat, looking up at him, crying, confused, embarassed. The moment lingered right into awkwardness and eventually, he gave up and walked back inside without her. 

Hermione waited until he had left. Her nose was running from crying and from the cold and she was sure between that and her hair, she looked a mess. She sat shivering on the bench for a moment, attempting to collect herself. Once she felt in better control, she gathered her dress around her and walked back into the castle, where she found Ron and stupidly let him pick a fight with her, which made her mood deteriorate even more. The only saving grace of the evening was that one of the Durmstrang boys approached her and gave her a note from Viktor, an apology in his broken English:

_Hermione,_

_I am lucky that you choose me tonight. I liked being with you. When you are ready, I am waiting and then we are together again. Now is not the time that is right. I never forget you._

_-Krum_

The note did make Hermione feel slightly better; at least he had not rejected her out of hand. In fact, it was a gesture of utmost respect, but it still stung. Between that and the row she and Ron had gone through, on the night of the ball, she was too disgusted with boys in general to ponder how her body had responded. After, life picked back up and Viktor faded somewhat from her mind, although they continued their written correspondence. It was always stilted though, careful, even as Viktor's English improved.

Thus, Hermione hadn't thought of Viktor in an intimate way until the night previous to this one. Ever since her conversation with Lucius, it didn't seem to take much to trigger those warm, not-unwelcome feelings between her legs. She even found her mind wandering in class, back to the kiss with Viktor and how even such brief contact had inflamed her with almost disturbing intensity. The distraction was annoying but it occurred her that any reasonable person would be distracted in her current situation, so she eased up on herself. When she found her mind drifting into dangerous territory, she would firmly re-focus on class content, telling herself that this too, would run its course.

Alone in her own bed later that night was a different story entirely, however, in which Hermione gave herself free reign to be the star. Hermione had run her own hands over her body, and had thought of Viktor as she caressed her own breasts, and continued what she assumed he would have started. Being as quiet as she could, she lifted her hips up and slid her nightgown up her thighs. She let her legs part and gently put her hand between them, amazed at how her body had responded to just thoughts of Viktor, certainly ready to accept whatever he would have given her, had the circumstances been different. 

She used her left hand to spread her labia and with her right hand, ran her finger experimentally over her clitoris, slowly pushing it back and forth, marveling at the sensations that radiated throughout her entire pelvic region. She then moved her hand down below, where her opening waited, warm and shockingly wet under her curious fingers. As she imagined what it would be like to have Viktor's cock filling her every intimate crevice, she moved her fingers back up to her clitoris, rubbing faster. Although she had never had one, she thought she was close to orgasm, when without warning, her fantasy switched from Viktor to Lucius and, flustered, she pulled her hands off herself, her heart beating fast. Frustrated, she angrily pulled her nightgown down and rolled over. She hadn't touched herself since; she didn't dare. 

After the Yule Ball, Viktor had acted the perfect gentleman about the whole embarrassing episode. He continued to treat her with the same respect bordering on reverence that he had shown her before, but on occasion, she caught him looking at her with smoldering longing and she knew that he regretted not going further as much as she did. He had also left soon after in the horrible aftermath of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and the question of what would have happened was left unanswered. _His problem,_ Ginny had said later, _was that he put you on a pedestal and left you there._

Back in the real world, out of her head, Ginny was pacing, one foot in front of the other, up and down the long space between the rows of beds. She had removed her shoes so she would be completely silent. “Ginny,” Hermione said. Ginny looked up. “Perhaps you should disappear.” 

“Fine,” Ginny answered, “but before I do…” She went over to an alcove between two of the stone roof supports and brought forth her canvas bag. She dug around until she found a bottle. She handed it to Hermione. "It won't be as effective as foreplay, but in your case, it's absolutely critical."

Hermione took it uncertainly, reading the label. “Oil of Slipperiness,” she read aloud. She stared at Ginny. “What don’t you have in that bag?” she asked. 

Ginny started to answer but Hermione cut her off. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” Ginny turned around and Hermione slipped out of her underwear. With trepidation she put some of the oil on her fingers. It slid around on her fingertips, living up to its name. She reached beneath her shortened skirt and carefully rubbed the oil on and in her pussy, surprised once again to find it already plenty slippery. Thinking about Viktor had actually been pretty good advice. She capped the oil and handed it back to Ginny. 

Ginny looked at her seriously. "Remember, Hermione, your body is designed to do this, so trust it, and it will be much easier."

Hermione nodded. "All right."

Just then, the girls heard the sound of footfalls, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a walking stick on stone, striking in time to each footstep. With each footfall, Hermione’s heart sped up a bit. This was it. It was actually happening, and there was no turning back. 

CHAPTER 6: EXCHANGE

Ginny had already grabbed the camera and covered herself with the cloak, after hissing to Hermione to just pretend she wasn’t even there. Hermione froze, looking towards the entrance of the room. Then Lucius was framed in the doorway, the stark blue light illuminating his unbound blond hair, angular features and silver cloak clasps. His eyes found Hermione's, and didn't waver as he crossed the room to where she waited for him on the bed, sitting, her legs crossed. 

Hermione had worn the exact same outfit as the last time they had met (sans school tie), since Lucius had seemed to take a fancy to it. He stood over her, so close she could see the detail in his snake cloak clasps. He reached into his pocket once more. His eye contact finally broke as he removed the box, bent over and placed it carefully on the table, his blond hair spilling over his shoulder. Then he stood, and eyed her once again, his gaze icy. “If you fail to please me, Miss Granger…the deal is off.” 

For one insane moment, Hermione considered telling him to keep it, that she wanted to do it anyway, forget about the trade. Then she remembered herself, and that Ginny was also there with her, expecting her not to let the Order down. Her throat dry, Hermione could only nod. Lucius smiled. “Listen to me carefully because what I'm going to say to you is of the utmost importance. You may withdraw consent at any time. If you tell me to stop, the deal is _also_ off, but I will stop without question and we shall part in amnesty. Do you understand?" Confused, Hermione nodded again. "Good. Don’t speak. Do exactly as I say, and perhaps we shall have a bargain. Now, stand up.” Strangely, a part of Hermione was relieved that she didn’t have to take charge of the situation, although it would mean being completely at his mercy. Most of her, however, was petrified. Still, she complied.

Lucius placed his walking on the nearest bed, then removed his cloak and threw it onto the bed as well. He then pulled his shirt over his head before running his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back out. Two years in prison had resulted in a body lean, hard, and heavily inked. Hermione saw that the Dark Mark was merely one of many serpents. Numerous snakes crisscrossed his chest, ribcage, and abdomen, woven through with thorns. Each one was realized in exacting detail, every scale distinct, each snake different from its brothers, but united in a theme of all black and gray. _The consumate Slytherin,_ Hermione thought. 

When he turned to toss his clothes on the other bed, Hermione saw _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ spanning his upper back. Even though she wasn't surprised to see the Malfoy words, their meaning, _Purity Always Conquers_ chilled her and, not for the first time, she wondered if she wasn't making a huge mistake. However, she noticed that the letters appeared distorted, as if she were reading them underwater. Before Hermione had time to look too closely or ponder what that meant, Lucius turned around. “Your turn,” he ordered.

Her fingers clumsy, Hermione unbuttoned her white shirt and took it off slowly, fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest, and stood bare-chested in front of Lucius. A breeze came through an open window. It stirred her hair and raised gooseflesh on her naked skin, but worse than that, it made her nipples harden. She put her hands behind her back to keep them still and looked down, feeling the weight of Lucius’ stare on her body, grateful for the darkness, as her face was on fire. 

She would have been staring at the floor, but Lucius was standing too close to her, so all she could see were serpents, moving down over his abdomen, to where his hips made a V-shape and below that, an unmistakable swelling. _For me,_ Hermione thought and a thrill shot through her pelvis. She quickly risked a glance at Lucius' face. His gaze was completely different than Viktor's, whose had been hot, eager, and intense, where Lucius' was cold, predatory, and above all, patient. Not that he wasn't interested; he looked her up and down, slowly, his eyes taking in every inch of her. Her entire being pulsed with nervous, excited energy, each sinew singing with anticipation mingled with fear.

Lucius was drawing the moment out purposefully and Hermione waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to say something. “Get on your knees.” She wasn't surprised that he would put her in a submissive posture right away, so she crouched down in front of him on the stone floor. He undid his trousers with one hand and grasped her wavy hair with the other, pulling it slightly and forcing her head back. She closed her eyes, dreading what she knew was coming. “Now, open your mouth like a good little Mudblood.” 

The insult added to the humiliation of what she was already doing. but because it was nothing less than Hermione had expected, it didn't sting as much as Lucius had no doubt intended it to. Not giving it another thought, Hermione opened her mouth while keeping her eyes closed. "Lick your lips." Another command that she followed. She expected Lucius to push his cock into her mouth right away, but instead he just traced the tip over her now moist lips. It was smooth, warm, and not entirely unpleasant. She willed herself to relax into what he was doing. 

After a moment, Lucius groaned and Hermione's lips started to feel lightly tacky, as he brushed them with pre-cum. Experimentally, she licked her lips, finding them now salty-sweet, again, not unpleasant. As she did, she inadvertently licked the head of Lucius' cock. It was then that he took the opportunity to push into her mouth, his hand still in her hair, not painful necessarily, but certainly controlling. Hermione had never done this with anyone, and knew that she was going to be bad at it, so she let him take her mouth without resisting, just letting him slide his hard cock between her lips and over her tongue. "Making an effort would kill you?" Lucius asked after a moment of this. She thought about what Ginny had said about foreplay and tried to focus. She sucked his cock as best she could, but with neither experience, nor the ability to move her head of her own volition, she gave it up as a bad job. Literally. After a time, her jaw started to ache and her knees felt sore from the stone floor. He finally pulled out of her mouth and let go of her hair.

“Stand up.” She stood, massaging her jaw. “Stop that,” he snapped. She dropped her hand and closed her mouth, awaiting his next instruction. “Face the bed, Miss Granger. I don’t want to see your face.” Cheeks flaming, Hermione turned and faced the bed. “Now bend over and get on your hands and knees. Then spread your legs so I can take what you've so generously offered.” 

With apprehension and expectancy, Hermione did as she was told. Again, Lucius kept her waiting as she heard him take off the rest of his clothes. He pulled up her skirt and ran his hands up the outside of her thighs. “More,” he said. She spread her legs a few inches more. He put his hand between her thighs and caressed her pussy, still lubricated with the slipperiness oil. “Well, well, well, aren’t we wet?” he said in a tone of scandalized surprise while his hand moving gently, expertly, finding her clitoris and moving his fingers against it. Hermione kept quiet, although a steady, warm pressure was beginning to build where he touched her. She found herself moving against him, trying not to make any noise. It was brutally unfair to her that not even her own fingers had felt like this and she found herself not wanting him to stop. Still, she dared not say anything. He pushed a finger up inside of her slowly, and she felt the walls of her pussy contract around it. She breathed in quickly.

"Calm down, Miss Granger," Lucius said, "I may give you a turn if you behave..." Hermione thought about what Ginny had said about foreplay and asking for what she wanted, but she didn't dare, not now. He moved his finger more, easing it farther inside her, bringing out new sensation. "Well, that part of you is pure anyway,” he added contemptuously, sliding his finger back out. He took hold of her hip with one hand and she felt the tip of his cock rubbing her slit, getting both of them ready. Clit pulsing, Hermione _felt_ ready. _Besides how bad can it--_ Lucius then pushed into her in earnest and Hermione gasped. It was far more painful than she expected and she pressed her lips together to keep silent. He kept pushing slowly as sweat broke out on Hermione’s body. She bit her lip, hard enough to distract her. She felt something inside her give way and her eyes welled up, and she was glad that Lucius couldn’t see her face.

He was now all the way in to the hilt and Hermione tried to concentrate on her breathing, in through her nose and out through her mouth. Before Hermione could recover from the initial shock of having her pussy dilated for the first time by an actual cock, Lucius pulled back and pushed in again, this time a little faster, now with both of his hands gripping her hips hard. Hermione braced herself against the bed, her hands grasping at the loose fabric of the stained mattress, knuckles white in the moonlight. Something dripped down her left thigh.

“This must be very important to you,” said Lucius as he thrust into her once more. Hermione said nothing. “And it must have slipped my mind to warn you that it might hurt. But I should hope you'd find it worth it, because if you think about it, what you're feeling is actually you becoming a little bit more pure.” At that moment, Hermione despised him with such intensity that it eclipsed all other feeling. He breathed in quickly, pulled back, and pushed in again. He leaned over her, his hair tickling her between the shoulder blades, sending a chill down her spine. "I like that," he murmured in her ear. "the idea of replacing your purity with my own." 

_My god, Ginny was right,_ Hermione thought grimly, _so right it's scary._ Even while knowing she should try and relax, Hermione clenched her jaw. Like calling her a Mudblood, she knew Lucius was saying half of it because he was a sadist, and she would be damned if she gave him satisfaction in that way; _let him take it from my body and be sated,_ she thought. _That was the agreement; I promised him nothing more._ Lucius chose that moment to ask, "Do I still have your consent?" Hermione nodded quickly. No way was she stopping now; she would stay the course or die in the attempt. But every thrust brought a fresh wave of pain until it became the only thing to concentrate on, aside from disappointment. _It's just a few minutes of my life, it's just a few minutes of my life, it's just a few minutes of my life._ This became Hermione's mantra, the point of focus for her mind and it really did help.

Lucius pushed faster and faster, breathing in Hermione's ear. Involuntarily, a whimper escaped her. She bit her lip once again, but it was too late; he had definitely heard her. He slowed. "Oh, are you not enjoying this?" he asked, thrusting into her suddenly. "Isn't this what you pictured, when you thought up this scheme?" She tried once again to relax. He pulled out of her completely and she shuddered with relief, which increased even more as she saw the door quietly open and shut, and knew that Ginny had gone. _And then there were two,_ she thought. 

"Turn over," Lucius ordered her. 

Slowly, Hermione obeyed, lying back on the bed and staring up at him, knees pressed together. She could feel the stickiness between her thighs and could see her blood all over the front of Lucius as well, almost black against the paleness of his skin in the moonlight. This time she did cross her arms over her chest, instinctively protecting herself. The serpent tattoos on his chest and abdomen seemed to move with a life of their own as his ribs expanded and contracted with each breath. Lucius caught her looking. "One for each person whose life has ended by my hand...or by my wand." He glanced around, and half smiled. "Speaking of which..." He reached over to the next bed and took his wand out.

Hermione froze. 

He came back over to her, wand in hand. Gently, he took her wrists, one at a time, and drew them over her head, exposing her breasts once again. "Did you think we were finished?" he asked, looking down at her body once again.

Hermione said nothing. She had no idea what he had in mind, and that made waiting unbearable. She tried to control her breathing, but each breath came out ragged and shaky, despite her best efforts.

Lucius busied himself pulling her skirt off and tossing it aside. "You fear me, Miss Granger, and you should," he said, "You see, your fear and pain are as sweet to me as what's between your legs." He ran his hand down her inner thigh, pushing her leg out. She did not resist. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes brazenly fixed on the part of her upon which he had just availed himself. "Well, almost," he concluded. Hermione's pussy twitched; the fact that she was turning him on, having a such a powerful effect on him, even for the wrong reasons, elicited an electrifying physical response and she felt fury at her own body's betrayal. As Lucius pushed her other leg out, he said, "And I haven't even used my wand yet."

Hermione could wait no longer. "What are you going to do?" she asked, her voice shaking. 

He knelt between her legs. "I used the Cruciatus curse once on a witch," he mused, "in a moment that, perhaps she wished I wouldn't, not that anyone ever wishes for it. I was inside her at the time." He locked eyes with Hermione. "It was magnificent." 

Hermione's heart dropped to her stomach, once again the horror of what he was saying warring with her body's unremitting need to climax. "Do I still have your consent after I just told you that?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow. Hermione nodded. "Excellent. So brave of you. And, because you've been good..." He reached between her legs once again. Without meaning to, Hermione spread her legs wider for him in anticipation. The gesture was not lost on Lucius, and he smiled. _Damn it all,_ Hermione thought, _why does he have to notice everything?_

As Hermione had done, Lucius used one hand to spread her labia apart, exposing her most sensitive areas to the cool of the room. With his other hand, he touched her in the same way that he had before, fingers gentle and light her clitoris as they rubbed back and forth, in a sharp contrast to what he had been doing from behind. In that moment Hermione realized that he had been holding out on her; he was fully capable of pleasuring her, but he had deliberately chosen not to. Hermione moved against him once more, and a moan escaped her. "You do like that, don't you?" Lucius said, his voice low, seductive. "It's almost as if you _want_ to enjoy this. But that would be unthinkable, wouldn't it?" Hermione wouldn't answer him, figuring the question was rhetorical anyway. Despite everything, Hermione refocused on what he was doing and felt her breathing speed up as he fingered her faster. 

Before Hermione could answer Lucius' question, he took his hands back. Hermione's whole body quivered in frustration. Lucius slid his cock into her once again with a groan of pleasure. Hermione drew her breath in sharply, expecting the worst, but actually, it wasn't so bad this way. Between what he had done with his hands, the change in position and the various substances now slick between her legs, the pain had diminished significantly. Those same feelings Lucius had elicited with his fingers came back to the surface. _Your body is designed to do this,_ Ginny's words came back to her. She calmed down and let what he was doing to her just happen. 

"But what I plan to do to you is far more refined than casting Cruciatus." 

"W-what?"

"Now I can hurt you, and I can make you bleed, and I can make you hate me more than you already do." He punctuated each phrase by pushing into her and up a little, generating friction. "I knew you weren't lying about being a virgin the second I put my cock into your smart little mouth. And when the time came to take what I was due, I started from behind knowing full well that it was going to be uncomfortable. For you, that is, not for me. Or, perhaps I did it as an act of mercy so you wouldn't have to see what was coming or have me witness your misery. But I'll never tell you which one it was." 

Hermione had her suspicions, but she kept her mouth shut.

Lucius continued. "But now I'm bored with that, and it has ceased to benefit me. So I'm going to give you a choice, Miss Granger. We can continue as planned, you'll keep your legs apart and let me do what I want between them, as previously agreed. You'll grit your teeth and think of that silver dragon blood you're working so very hard to earn. Before you know it, I will be done taking my pleasure in you and you may walk, or attempt to walk, out that door, comfortable in your hatred of me and all that I stand for." In a strangely tender gesture, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. 

Hermione relaxed her jaw as she realized that was exactly what she was doing. "Or?" she managed.

"You strike me as the reading type. Are you familiar with Veela magic?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Indeed? Well, no matter. I shall enlighten you. I will cast a spell that will make you enjoy what I'm doing to you, rather than hating it. No more pain, only pleasure."

Hermione frowned. "That's it?" she asked. _What's so bad about that?_ she thought.

Lucius pulled back and pushed in once again. "That's it," he whispered. "Think carefully Miss Granger, about the implications and repercussions of accepting my offer. I haven't disappointed a witch yet, and I hadn't necessarily planned to start with you, but ultimately, it's your decision."

Hermione's usually clear head felt far too muddled from pain, anxiety, fear, and, as much as she hated to admit it, almost unbearable frustration, not to mention the residual curiosity from her experience with Viktor. Also, she doubted that it would be as great as Lucius made it out to be; his ego seemed to fuel the majority of what he said, whether it was true or not. "Yes," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"Yes," she said again. "Please."

Lucius smirked in the moonlight. "As you wish, Miss Granger." Hand now also bloody, he raised his wand and said an incant in the musical language of the Veela. For the briefest of instants, Hermione reflected that for someone so notoriously disgusted by dirty blood, he certainly didn't mind getting hers all over him. Strange. Lucius then tossed his wand on the bedside table beside the box of silver dragon blood and turned back to the task at hand. 

The spell worked within just a few seconds. Hermione's own breathing increased in time with his, as, to her surprise, she felt herself respond to him, tightening around his cock. It was if he was filling places inside her that she didn't even know were empty. Now her hips rose to meet his with every thrust. He ground against her, working inside her, finding those spots he had so skillfully found with his fingers earlier. As the feelings of pleasure built, Hermione's breath came out as a series of frenzied panting noises. As promised, the pain was completely gone, which was pleasurable in and of itself. However, the need for release was now as agonizing as the pain had once been and tripled by not even coming close with Victor, and not finding release later, by herself. Tension sang from every sinew of her thighs, her back, her arms. "Faster," she moaned between breaths. "Harder." 

Lucius complied. He grabbed her hands and pinned them to the bed, fingers locked in with hers. "Do you want to come?" he breathed.

"Yes...please..." Hermione hated herself a little for begging, but she was so close, she just knew it.

"Then look at it," Lucius hissed. "You should know just who is doing this to you."

Hermione closed her eyes, trying block him and concentrate just on the pleasure she felt. She knew what he wanted and had no interest in giving it to him. She pushed against his hands, but it was like pushing against steel. 

"Don't you dare shut me out," Lucius said, his voice dangerous. "You made the choice to do this with me, knowing perfectly well what I am, so I'm going to make the choice of keeping it personal. If you want to come, and I'd wager you do, you'll open your eyes and look at it now, or I'll stop," he warned her, slowing his pace ever so slightly.

It wasn't even really a choice at all. Defeated, Hermione opened her eyes and turned her head to the right, her face mere inches from Lucius' left forearm, its sinews standing taut from holding her fingers captive in his. In seeing her comply, Lucius picked up the pace once again said another word in the Veela language. The Dark Mark filling her vision, Hermione came finally, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Totally in his power, Hermione gave herself up to it. It defied anything her imagination had come up with and its intensity was almost more than she felt she could bear. 

It eventually dwindled, but its aftershocks continued to make her spasm.  
A few seconds later, Lucius came inside of her, breathing hard. After a heartbeat, he pulled out of her quickly, released her hands, and stood up without a word. He found a towel in the drawer of the nightstand and wiped her blood off of him. Hermione turned away from him. She could hear him putting his clothes back on and gathering his things together as she took a moment to recover.

When she was able, Hermione found another towel and used it to clean herself off. When she was done, she sat up and drew her knees up to her chest, looking at Lucius once again. "That is...silver dragon blood, isn't it?" she asked, voice small.

Lucius looked at her. "Do you think I would try and cheat you, Miss Granger?" he asked coldly.

It wasn't exactly a _yes._ Hermione gathered her own clothes and put them back on, smoothing her skirt. She felt bolder now than she had at the beginning. It was over and she was still alive. Additionally, despite what she had just done and who she had done it with, her entire body felt languid and more relaxed than it had felt for the past few days. There was also a part of her that wondered when she could have another orgasm. She quickly quashed the thought. "I wouldn't put it past you, although I would be disappointed if you gave me anything but silver dragon blood after what you just put me through," she said. She met his eyes and stood up, facing him. "Severely disappointed."

Lucius smirked. "No doubt you would be," he said. He pulled on his cloak and freed his hair. "On the other hand, if I did cheat you, it's not as if there's anything you could do about it." 

"Well..." Hermione looked away for a moment, as if thinking. "I might have a difficult time keeping my smart little mouth shut." She met his eyes once again. "I mean, we didn't talk about this or make it part of our arrangement because I naturally assumed that, well..." She looked away from him, delaying on purpose, knowing it would drive him mad and would serve as a subtle pay-back for the delays he had just inflicted upon her.

"Assumed that what?" Lucius asked warily.

Hermione now looked directly at him, not breaking eye contact. "This is something you would want kept quiet, say...from your wife, as an example?"

He froze. "Are you threatening me?" His voice was now deadly quiet. "I would advise against going wand-to-wand with me, Miss Granger. It will inevitably cost more than you can afford to lose."

"No," Hermione answered, now careful to keep her own voice light. "I shouldn't think it necessary. One would hope a wizard of your caliber would know the difference between silver dragon blood and a less-valuable facsimile and would have the integrity and good breeding to keep his word; doing otherwise would be most unbecoming." Hermione let just a hint of sarcasm pepper her words. "However, once again, I was speaking hypothetically," she concluded, lightening her tone once more

Lucius paused for a fraction of a second, looking at Hermione strangely. Even though he had just had sex with her, it was almost as if he were seeing her for the first time. If she didn't know better, Hermione could swear she detected a hint of respect. Lucius recovered quickly. "Well, that certainly is reassuring, because you may want to take a look around you. You've warded the room against intruders, which no doubt includes silencing spells. So far, that has worked to your delightfully vocal advantage; however, you can see how that advantage might also be tipped my way should I change my mind about not casting a certain curse on you... speaking hypothetically." He slowly took out his wand and looked at it. "Moreover, one might question your own integrity and..." His eyes found hers once again. "What was it you said? Your _good breeding,_ Miss Granger," he concluded with practiced irony. "You ask me, is that really silver dragon blood? I can just as easily ask you, what 7th Year final project could possibly require it?"

Hermione swallowed, but found she had no answer for him. 

His eyes took one more sweep over her body. "Now, is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Granger?" he asked. 

Hermione shook her head. "No. Thank you," she muttered.

"Any time," Lucius answered, before turning on his heel. He stopped at the door and turned back towards her, his face obscured by the darkness. "Warm compresses will help with the pain," was the last thing he said to her. Before Hermione could say anything else, Lucius pulled the door open and quickly exited. 

Hermione stared after him, thoroughly baffled by his last statement. Before she could dwell on it for too long, Ginny walked back into the room. “Did you get them?” Hermione asked Ginny, not quite meeting Ginny’s eyes. 

Ginny held up the camera solemnly and nodded. "We got the bastard."


	3. 7: Counterfeit; 8: Escalation; 9: Authenticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Lucius delivers a counterfeit product, Hermione and Ginny subsequently up the ante. Hermione begins to suspect Ginny is not telling her everything and vice versa. When Hermione confronts Lucius, he reveals to her an ugly truth. Under duress, Lucius finally comes through, but Hermione wonders if she might be in over her head. Snape unwillingly gets involved and stages an intervention. 
> 
> _Lucius looked at Snape and smiled coldly._ "You're _going to judge me now? I make one quasi-legitimate, but_ very _consensual trade and get blackmailed for my trouble, and suddenly I'm the villain?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the views, the kudos, and the comments. A lot of you have asked if there's more to come. The answer is yes, there is a LOT more. In its current draft, this work is around 142,000 words. That said, the plot is pretty well fleshed out, and I can assure you it is very much a Lucius/Hermione story, although you're just going to have to trust me on that one for the next few chapters, because their relationship gets worse before it gets better. I'm not dumping the entire thing onto AO3 at once because I like the idea of releasing it in manageable, 7,000 - 10,000-word chunks. Also, because initially it was never going to see the light of day, it needs editing to be fit for human consumption (you're welcome).

CHAPTER 7: COUNTERFEIT

The exchange had happened on Friday and the following Monday, term resumed. Hermione was relieved to be back into the routine of going to class, studying, and hanging out with Ron and Harry, although she and Ginny had not spoken of the event since it happened. Hermione wasn't sure if it was out of respect or perhaps distaste, but Ginny had not brought it up. In fact, Hermione had hardly seen her. Hermione suspected that much of the reason was because Ginny had to work quickly to develop the photographs in the Hogwarts darkroom. Hermione had offered to help her, but they both knew Hermione was just being polite and so Ginny mercifully declined.

There were times, however, that Hermione suspected that Ginny was avoiding her. It was difficult to put her finger on exactly why that was, but something had shifted almost imperceptibly between them. Hermione desperately wanted to talk to somebody and knew that Ginny was the only person she could talk to, but at the same time, what could she possibly say? That she enjoyed sex with Lucius Malfoy, and would have a difficult time saying no to him a second time, despite his deplorable behavior towards her? As Lucius himself had said, it was unthinkable. Ginny would never understand; to her, it was always supposed to be a business transaction, nothing more. Hermione was there to perform a function, which she had; end of story.

Yes, normalcy was a blessing; still, Hermione didn't want to waste any time in making sure that Lucius' part of the trade was the genuine article. For that, she needed Professor Snape, for two reasons. First, he was without question the resident subject expert and second, if it truly was silver dragon blood, Hermione wanted him to see it for himself. Thus, she purposefully loitered after Potions class that day. Snape busied himself with unrolling all the class essays on the properties of _Digitalis purpura_ extract, stacking them, and then re-rolling them into one bundle. She approached him as respectfully as she could. “Excuse me, sir?” she said.

Snape neither stopped, nor did he look up. “What is it, Miss Granger?”

“Sir, can you please tell me what this is?” She set the box on the table in front of him.

Now he paused and glanced at the box. “Don’t be lazy,” he said coldly. "You're at NEWT level. Appraise it yourself."

Hermione dropped her voice low. “Well, ordinarily I wouldn’t bother you, sir, but someone told me that this was powdered silver dragon blood and if it truly is, I have no safe way to test it, nor do I think my appraisal skills are quite equal to the task.”

If Snape was surprised at this pronouncement or suspected that it had anything to do with his conversation with Professor McGonagall, he hid it well. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think someone is having a go at you, but very well, Miss Granger. Leave the box with me and get out.”

“Thank you sir.” She placed the box on the edge of the table and hurried out to catch up with Ron and Harry.

*****

Hermione had Potions again the following day and Snape told her to remain after class. When the rest of the students had filed out, Hermione walked to the table at the front of the class and waited for Snape. He slid the box across the table back to her. “It’s pig’s blood,” Snape said with contempt.

Hermione's heart plummeted and she had to work hard not to let her anger show on her face. She closed her eyes and sighed. _A few minutes of my life,_ she thought. 

Luckily, Snape wasn't even looking at her. “And I'll take five points from Gryffindor for wasting my time. Perhaps that will teach you to be less gullible in the future.” He turned from her and started setting up for his next class. 

Hermione supposed that she shouldn’t be surprised, but the added slight still rankled her. Willing herself to remain nonchalant, she took the box from the table and put it in her bag, and then turned around and came face-to-face with Ginny, who had come in for her Potions class. Ginny clearly had overheard the conversation because she was pale with rage, her freckles standing out in sharp relief on her face. Hermione could tell she was about to say something she shouldn’t, so she grabbed Ginny’s arm and marched her forcefully to a corner in the back of the classroom and away from Snape.

“That bastard,” Ginny said vehemently, referring to Lucius. "That unspeakable, lying bastard." Several students who were finding their seats looked at the pair of them curiously.

Hermione looked around in alarm. "For goodness' sake, lower your voice," she hissed.

Ginny's mouth was set in a grim line, but she thankfully had remembered herself and was now speaking more quietly, but with no less venom. “There’s no curse vile enough for him, Hermione.” Although Ginny's words burned with fury, something about her behavior seemed affected, as if she was just putting on a performance. 

Hermione frowned, but dismissed the thought as simply herself imagining things. “How are you even surprised at this?” she asked. “We prepared for it; we knew it was almost a certainty, and he as much as _told_ me that he had cheated me. We have to remain level-headed."

Ginny shook her head, fuming. "No, we don't, Hermione," she said through clenched teeth. "We strike. Today. Now. We'll make him sorry he ever crossed you." 

"Don't you have Potions now?" Hermione asked her. 

Ginny swore. "We strike. Today. After Potions," she amended. 

Hermione looked at her strangely. "Is everything all right?" she asked. Although she had every right to be angry, Ginny's wrath seemed disproportionate to what had happened and her eyes shone with almost gleeful vindication. _It wasn't as if it happened to her,_ Hermione thought. She once again dismissed the thought. _Ginny's just being protective,_ she thought, _after all, it was her idea; perhaps she feels responsible._

Ginny looked at her. "Never better," she said tightly. Without another word, she turned from Hermione and found her seat, not looking back.

"See you later," Hermione said to thin air before leaving herself. 

After Potions, Ginny took Hermione back to her room and brought out her notorious post sack once again. She crouched down and dug around in it, reached her hand all the way to the bottom and brought forth three golden envelopes. She put one of the envelopes in her schoolbag and drew the drawstrings tight before standing and slinging it onto her back.

Hermione followed Ginny, her eyes on the bag as they climbed the many steps of the Owlery tower. When they reached the top of the stairs, Ginny unslung her bag and put it down, where it crunched unpleasantly on the thousands of bird and mouse skeletons littering the floor. She took out the envelope and closed her bag again.

Hermione watched her. "Do you think that this is too drastic?" she asked, chewing on her lower lip.

Ginny shook her head once. "Not even a little. He needs to know that we mean business. This is the best way. Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now..."

"No," Hermione said, looking fretfully at the envelope. "But we can't undo it, Ginny."

"Nor would we want to. Look, I'll even sign my name if it would make you feel better." She took out a quill and, before Hermione could stop her, signed the envelope so quickly and angrily that ink splattered all over her fingers. "Bear in mind also," Ginny muttered as she wrote, "she gave us Draco Malfoy, so I think we owe her for _that_ gift to all of wizardkind."

Hermione smiled, but it felt brittle "Fair point," she said. 

Ginny wiped her fingers on her Hogwarts robe. 

_"Ginny--!"_ Hermione said.

Ginny looked up quickly. "What? It's black; it'll never show."

"Still--"

Ginny closed her smudged hand in front of both of their faces, an impatient gesture. "We're blackmailing Lucius Malfoy," she said. "Let's maybe keep this all in perspective."

"Right," Hermione said, nodding her head once. "Perspective."

"Here then," Ginny said, holding out the quill, "You do it if you think you can make a better job of it."

Hermione took the quill from her and made out the address on the cleanest part of the envelope before attaching it to the nearest owl's leg:

_Narcissa Malfoy_  
Malfoy Manor  
Wiltshire, UK 

The owl hooted once and then flapped into the bright sunlight. Shielding her eyes, Hermione watched the envelope get smaller and smaller, feeling that her control over the situation was diminishing just as rapidly. She turned to Ginny, who was also watching the owl. "That part was easy," Ginny said. She grinned, but it looked more like a grimace to Hermione. "Now comes the bit that's fun." 

 

CHAPTER 8: ESCALATION

That evening, the governors came for their meeting, headed as usual by Lucius. Hermione watched him walk across the quad. A range of emotions assaulted Hermione at once, anger over what he had done to her, fear over what she had to do next, all underscored with the unwelcome but undeniable current of longing. “I don't think I can do this,” she informed Ginny. 

“You simply must be brave,” Ginny said, watching also, “otherwise nothing that we've done matters. We sent the owl, but that owl will be meaningless if you don't go over to him and teach him the difference between right and wrong, something he clearly doesn't know.” She smiled at Hermione. "Hey, it's no worse than anything he's done. Besides, he's only human."

Hermione nodded, staring down at her hands; she found she had nothing useful to say to Ginny. They were sitting on a stone bench underneath a tree, not bothering to hide, since there were students all over the quad, and Lucius didn’t look in their direction anyway. Ginny handed her the second envelope. “We’ll catch him after the meeting,” Ginny said, “that way he’ll be alone.” 

For the next two hours, Hermione sat on the bench and tried to study, but found that she was reading the same paragraphs over and over again. Her mind kept wandering back to her upcoming ordeal. She tried to strategize, but it was one of those times when her carefully ordered logic was not particularly helpful. She would have to wing it and she hated winging it. It was too unpredictable and relied too much on luck for Hermione's taste. The time dragged and slowly, the other students began to return to their dorms. Soon, Ginny and Hermione were the only ones on the darkened quad. 

As usual, Lucius was the last one to leave. Ginny had already bolted behind another tree as soon as the staff door had opened, leaving Hermione by herself on the stone bench. From the shadows, Hermione watched him approach as if in slow motion. She did not want to speak to him, did not want to think about him and did not want to see him ( _or do you? Think carefully..._ her mind tormented her), yet there he was, and she had to do all three. She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She suddenly was struck with inspiration as Ginny's words came back to her, _it's no worse than anything he's done._ Hermione smiled in spite of herself. _What_ would _he do in this situation?_ she asked herself. _Start there and see what happens..._

“Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione said. The random thought popped into her head wondering if the two of them maybe should be on a first-name basis now that they had been intimate with each other. Lucius turned and looked in her direction. 

“Who’s there?” he asked, giving Hermione a strange sense of déjà vu.

“You know who it is. We need to talk.”

“This is hardly the time, nor—“

“Now.” Hermione surprised herself with the sharpness of her voice as she cut him off. It bolstered her confidence a little. She took another breath. _You can do this,_ she thought. _Blackmail or not, you deserve respect._

“Oh, very well,” Lucius snapped and walked quickly to the bench. 

Hermione stood and squared her shoulders. She took out her wand. _“Lumos”,_ she muttered and a light glowed at the end. She took the photographs out of the envelope, placing the envelope behind her on the bench. Without a word, she held them out to Lucius as he stopped a few feet in front of her.

“What is this?” Lucius demanded, taking them from her.

“That wasn’t silver dragon blood you gave me,” Hermione answered evenly as Lucius looked at the photographs. Hermione was holding her wand up, illuminating his arrogant face. Lucius took her by the wrist of her wand hand and brought it over to him, bringing the pictures into the light. The sudden contact of his hand on her skin brought a shadow of the same electricity she had felt the night they had been together, and she angrily dismissed the feelings. She watched his jaw clench as he realized what the photographs were. He dropped her wrist, but she kept it over the photographs so he could see. 

He looked at each picture. Ginny had done an excellent job. There was no mistaking who was in the pictures or what they were doing. 

“You Mudblood whore,” Lucius said murderously. 

Hermione stepped back and took a deep breath. “If you had held up your end of the bargain, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Also, that is the last time, the _very_ last time you get to use that epithet with me. But, since we’re name calling, you’re a pureblood whore." She kept her voice as haughty and detached as Lucius' had been. "These are only a few of many. If you don’t want them to get out, you _will_ get me that silver dragon blood.” Channeling his tactics in order to get the upper hand and not show weakness felt surreal to Hermione, but at the same time it seemed to be working for her. 

“Only a Muggle-born would sink to this level,” Lucius told her contemptuously.

Hermione smirked. “That's not actually true, although I appreciate your use of a more civilized term for what I am." She paused. “And, besides, wouldn't that make you a blood traitor?" she said.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I'm hardly breeding with you; that _would_ be an abomination. I was merely using your body for my own enjoyment. Besides, by the end you were hardly complaining."

“Because you cast a spell,” she spat. 

"What spell?" he whispered, biting off each word. 

"What do you mean?" Hermione felt her facade start to slip as a horrible suspicion started infecting her mind.

Lucius smiled. "There never was a spell," he said. "Merely the power of suggestion, a very real fear of what I can and will do with my wand, hormones, and no small amount of skill on my part. Flattering, really, that you think my magic is that powerful."

Hermione felt like someone had sucked all the air out of her lungs and she had to take a breath before speaking. When she did, despite her best efforts, her voice shook. "You're lying."

Lucius' smile widened. "Not about this, I'm afraid. Fear and desire, pain and pleasure, these create a great deal of power on their own. In fact, as loathe as I am to admit it, I can't even take all the credit: the majority of it was generated in your own mind. And Veela magic? It's a line, nothing more. Now, I _was_ going to show you mercy by keeping my little secret and letting you comfortably believe that you enjoyed having me inside of you _only_ under magical compulsion. However, now that you've shown your true colors, I think that letting you labor under such false pretenses is actually doing you a disservice. Besides, I could tell from the beginning that you wanted to enjoy it, which made it so much better--for both of us--and what made it such a simple matter to trick you. _Faster,_ you begged me, _harder._ Remember?" 

Hermione closed her eyes. _What I'm going to do to you is far more refined than casting Cruciatus,_ his words came back to her. _Think long and hard, Miss Granger, about the implications of accepting my offer._ She opened her eyes once again and narrowed them at Lucius.

He continued. "You're quite welcome, by the way. I'm not sure which part I like better, that this was all your choice, or that it was the Dark Mark that pushed you over the edge. Would you like to see it once more?" he asked, pushing up his left sleeve. 

Hermione finally gathered herself. "I certainly hope you're enjoying yourself because you won't be quite so smug when your wife sees those pictures."

As she predicted, his smile evaporated instantly and was replaced with a look of pure hatred. "You wouldn't dare," he breathed.

Hermione shrugged. "The owl's already long gone," she said, acting out a devil-may-care attitude that she definitely didn't feel. "Over eight hours ago, as a matter of fact. So your wife should be getting them somewhere around now, unless I miss my guess." She glared at him. "Know that I am not to be trifled with," she said. "I told you that I would be severely disappointed if you tried to cheat me. I also told you that I would have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. Now, I haven't technically said anything, but you know what they say a picture's worth. Besides, whether or not I felt pleasure in what we did doesn't matter; that part was somehow missed by the photographer. In the end, it won't matter what actually happened, just what it _looks like_ happened. Look again."

He did. 

Hermione continued, enjoying her small and no doubt temporary victory. "Oh, are you not enjoying this?" she asked softly. "Isn't this what you pictured when you thought up this scheme?"  
She saw Lucius' jaw tighten. Hermione raised her voice again. "Aside from anger, those other feelings you are experiencing right now are vulnerability and fear, similar to what you cultivated and exploited in me the night these pictures were taken. I showed you these pictures tonight knowing full well that it was going to be uncomfortable. For you, that is, not for me." Her voice shook once again and her eyes prickled. Until that moment, she hadn't realized just how angry she was at him.

Hermione collected herself and continued, her voice now steadier. "If these pictures become public knowledge, before this is over, words and phrases like _inappropriate relationship, conflict of interest, wanton abuse of power, infidelity,_ and _cruelty_ are going to be thrown around a lot. In fact, the truth may never come out, or even if it does, it won't matter because by then the damage will be done. Even if every single detail does come out, there are some who would argue that my consent couldn't possibly be given because I'm a student and you're a Board member. Then there's always the possession charge. Are you so confident in your influence that you want to let this take its course? The way I see it, at best you'll be sacked and humiliated, just as your fragile reputation was starting to improve. At worst...well, I don't suppose you would mind going back to Azkaban so soon, would you?"

“Who took the pictures?” Lucius asked her, his voice composed, but the tension in his jaw giving away his wrath. 

Hermione shook her head. "That information has no part in this arrangement. However, there is another person, one who will know exactly what to do if something should mysteriously happen to me." There was no way she was going to give Ginny up. It was inevitable that he would find out eventually. If Lucius' wife told him, so be it, but she and Ginny would at least have some time to prepare for that. “I gave you what I promised to the best of my ability; now it's your turn,” she said. “The first step was your wife; the second will be the _Daily Prophet_ if you would be so heedless as to test my resolve again. I'm not even going bother with Draco, because, well..." She smiled coldly. "I so rarely do. He can read about it just as well as the rest of the wizarding world. In fact, I think I like that better, having him find out with all the other peasants. Merlin knows you wouldn't tell him." She turned serious once more. "The silver dragon blood, that’s all I ask for, no more and no less. You have until sunset tomorrow." 

“Oh you’ll get it, Miss Granger," Lucius said quietly, "My only advice for you is to use it quickly because I have a feeling that your future and that of your very talented photographer may just be...precarious." 

"Go home and mend things with your wife," Hermione said, her voice softening with mock sympathy. "I can't imagine there's any more you can say to me now that will help either of us." She smiled at him once more. "Best of luck." Lucius gave her one more look of loathing before he tossed the photographs on the ground and strode away from her. Hermione felt a bitter triumph at his retreat. She gathered up the photographs as Ginny came out from her hiding place. 

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Ginny said, taking the photographs from Hermione and putting them back in the envelope before securing the string.

“Yes it did," Hermione sighed. "But it's done now. The Quaffle's in his hoop."

CHAPTER NINE: AUTHENTICITY

The next morning’s owl post brought an unfamiliar owl to the Gryffindor table, a post office owl. It dropped a parcel on Hermione’s plate and flew back towards the ceiling. Luckily, the other Gryffindors were distracted and didn’t notice. Hermione glanced furtively around and, exchanging glances with Ginny, opened the package under the table. It was another small box with a carved dragon on it. Attached was a note with six words written upon it: _Plenty of space for more serpents._ Hermione swallowed and crumpled the note up. 

After breakfast, Hermione headed to Potions with Harry and Ron. While Ron attempted to help Harry and Neville with a particularly complicated variation on basilisk antivenin, Hermione emptied her own cauldron and brought out the box. She opened it carefully and looked at the contents within. A tiny vial lay on the crimson velvet lining the box; contained within was a dark red, almost purple very fine powder. Using a toothpick, she took a minuscule amount and dropped it into her cauldron, then closed the vial and placed it in her pocket. She pointed her wand at the cauldron. _“Incendio,”_ she whispered. A red spark shot from her wand into the cauldron. The silver dragon powder flared, bright as magnesium and sent out a shock wave that knocked Hermione clear off of her stool and onto the floor. Bottles crashed around her.

She hit her head on the desk on the way down and everything went dark. When she opened her eyes, the dark Potions classroom had disappeared and she was suddenly standing on the side of a mountain. There was a silver dragon in front of her, it’s scales gleaming in the sunlight like polished chrome. A man garbed in polished dragon-scale armor and a helm fashioned as a dragon's head approached the dragon, which seemed to be unconscious and injured. He took off the helm. The man had long blond hair and looked eerily like a cross between Draco and Lucius. He carried a wooden bucket and brandished a knife with a black hilt.

Hermione watched as the man plunged the knife into the beast’s neck and pulled it out, his face manic and gleeful. Crimson blood poured out into the bucket. Suddenly, someone was slapping her face. She blinked several times as the mountain faded from her vision and the Potions classroom re-appeared. She sat up. Not gently, Snape grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet as a babble of concerned voices fell on her ears. 

“My office. Now,” Snape said with barely concealed fury. He dropped her arm and turned swiftly. Hermione followed him into his office, using desks to steady herself as she passed. Her shoes crunched on a floor now full of broken glass, while the rest of the class stared after them. Hermione closed the door behind her gingerly, her head still swimming. She sat down on his incredibly ugly red plaid couch, bent over and put her head between her knees, waiting for the spots in front of her vision to clear and the roaring in her ears to dull. When they did, she opened her eyes and stood. Snape faced her with his arms folded. “Well,” he snapped, “explain yourself.”

Hermione sighed. She put her hand in her pocket and drew forth the vial, setting it down on the desk in front of Snape. “Powdered silver dragon blood,” she said. She dropped her voice low. “Ginny and I overheard you and Professor McGonagall say you needed it for a ritual for the Order...” She trailed off.

“And?”

“Here it is. It’s definitely silver dragon blood this time, sir.” 

“Well, it didn't come from Diagon Alley, so where, how, and from whom did you get it?” he asked slowly and deliberately. 

Hermione hesitated. “From the person whom you said had it,” she mumbled.

Snape ran his hands through his dark hair. “I don’t have time to deal with this now. See me after last classes today." He paused for a moment. "Bring Miss Weasley as well. You will explain yourselves in detail then. Now get out of my office.”

Hermione turned and walked out as quickly as she could. She kept her face neutral as she faced the class. They were all staring at her in shock. “Cauldron accident,” she said loudly to Ron and Harry, who were looking at her warily. 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Ginny and Hermione met in Snape’s classroom and waited for him to finish speaking with the other students that congregated around his table. 

When the last students had filed out, Snape said, “Follow me.” They followed him to his office and closed the door. "Well, Miss Granger, even a broken clock is right twice a day so yes, it is silver dragon blood and, before you ask, it's about 1,000 Galleons worth, enough to send you to Azkaban twice over. That said, you need to tell me everything,” he said. Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances. They knew that Snape was in the Order, but he also bore the Dark Mark, was the head of Slytherin house, was close with Lucius himself, and felt no love for anyone in Gryffindor. “Well?” he snapped. He folded his arms in front of him and he faced them, waiting. 

“As I told you earlier, Lucius Malfoy gave it to me,” Hermione muttered, staring at the floor. “I asked him to give it to me and he…did.” She looked back up at Snape.

“I don’t believe you,” Snape said flatly. He glared at them, one and then the other. 

“Where else would I get it? You said yourself that the Malfoys are the only source. You also said you needed it, sir,” Hermione said, raising her voice. “Now you have it. What more do you want?”

“The truth, for a start,” Snape answered, “If you antagonized Lucius Malfoy in any way or made an enemy of him, you have endangered the entire Order.”

Ginny slowly took out the envelope. “No, Ginny, don’t,” Hermione said. Ginny glanced at her. Hermione continued. “I made a bargain with him for it,” she said, “I bought it, you might say…”

“You couldn’t have possibly afforded it,” Snape said scornfully, reading nothing into her words. 

_No wonder he and Lucius are friends,_ Hermione thought, _they sound almost exactly the same._ Hermione looked at Snape intently, willing him to understand her. "Are you absolutely sure that there's nothing with which I could pay him? Something of mine that he would value that is not monetary? You _do_ know him, don't you?" 

Snape's eyes widened. "You didn't..." he said.

Ginny held up the envelope. 

"And what is that?" Snape asked, each word distinct.

"Ginny, please," Hermione hissed.

Ginny ignored her. She drew the pictures out, still keeping their backs to Snape so he couldn't see what was actually in them. She took a deep breath. "Now, Professor, I'm not going to show you the fronts of these pictures, because you won't be able to un-see them, and they're, well... they're frankly appalling. You should know, though, that the contents could take Lucius Malfoy down if made public." 

Snape looked at Hermione. "What did you do?" His voice was soft.

Hermione glared at him. "What do you think I did? I traded my virginity to Lucius Malfoy for that vial of silver dragon blood," she said. "So use it well and don't waste it." 

Snape sat down on the edge of his desk, his face reading utter shock. 

Hermione continued. "Ginny hid and took pictures of the trade as insurance, which, as it turns out, we needed, as you yourself well know; you identified the first item he gave me and said it was pig's blood. When I found out that's what it was, I confronted him with the pictures, which was how we ended up with the actual silver dragon blood. You should also know that this was _after_ we sent them to his wife. Admittedly, he was less than thrilled, Professor." 

Snape massaged his temples, his eyes closed. Silence reigned for almost a minute.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a glance. "Professor?" Hermione finally asked.

Snape opened his eyes and looked at them. “Leave those with me, Miss Weasley,” he said calmly, “I’ll take care of them.”

Ginny shook her head. “No sir, I can’t do that.” 

“This has become out of your control, Miss Weasley. Henceforth, I alone will deal with Lucius Malfoy, not you, and certainly not you, Miss Granger. Leave the photographs with me, all of them.”

Ginny slowly put them back in their envelope and tied it shut. She looked at Hermione, who nodded ever so slightly. Ginny handed them over to Snape. 

"And this is all of them, I trust?"

Ginny looked him in the eyes. "Yes, sir, every single one."

CHAPTER TEN: ACCORD

The following night brought another governors’ visit. Tonight they were talking about grounds improvements. The boring and irrelevant subject was perfect for Snape's mood. He felt as if goblin miners were drilling into his head. Also, when the meeting was over, he would have to face the delicate and unpleasant task of talking Lucius down off the ledge regarding a problematic little vial currently locked in his office. Because Snape only had until the end of the meeting to figure out the best way to do that without exposing the Order, he gave his mind license to wander. 

He could not believe those two, Granger and Weasley. Although, he had to admit to himself that he and Professor McGonagal bore some of the blame for not being more discreet. Even so, no one would have expected the two of them to undergo such a monumentally suicidal plan, although it took a measure of bravery even to come up with it, much less execute it. It may even have worked, if, as Granger had mentioned, Lucius had held up his end of the bargain. If only they hadn't taken pictures. And to have the audacity to send them to Narcissa...That had been the master stroke that had most likely escalated the situation sufficiently to seal both their fates. Merlin, it was a mess. Just thinking about it made Snape's head hurt worse. 

He shifted in his seat. The Headmaster held the floor now, speaking about masonry and stained glass. Snape wondered how much Dumbledore knew. He supposed he ought to tell him; however, the fewer people were involved, the better. Perhaps he would tell Dumbledore when everything was sorted out; in any case, it would have to wait until after he spoke with Lucius, as that particular task was becoming increasingly time sensitive.

He looked across the staff room at Lucius. Lucius looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. Snape nodded, barely moving his head. Lucius nodded back and then turned his attention back to the meeting. Good, that would assure a conversation after the meeting was over.

After the small talk following the meeting, Lucius and Snape walked back to Snape's office. "Get the door," Snape said.

"Yes, Professor," Lucius said, smiling. He closed the door and sat on the ugly plaid couch after looking at it with distaste.

Snape reached up on a shelf and pulled down a carved wooden box. Setting it on the desk, he pulled a small vial out of his robe and poured a drop on the lock, which clicked open. Replacing the vial, Snape opened the lid. He removed another vial sealed with beeswax, full of a milky white potion. He walked around the desk and handed it to Lucius."

"I thank you," Lucius said, putting it in his pocket, "or rather, Narcissa's poor nerves thank you. I can make it myself, but you know it's not as good as yours. Or I risk poisoning her, which I simply can't have." He reached into another pocket and Snape could hear the jingle of coins.

"There's no need," Snape said. 

Lucius looked at him in suprise. "Indeed? Draught of Peace augmented just so with Draught of Living Death is now simple and inexpensive? Well, you are the expert, I suppose. Unless..." Lucius smiled. "There's something else that you need from me?"

"Well, I could use some assurance..." Snape started, carefully. 

"Assurance of what, may I ask?"

Snape reached into the box again and took out the envelope. He handed it to Lucius, who undid the string and took out the pictures. "Where did you get these?" he asked, looking at them.

"You know perfectly well where I got them. This is low, Lucius, even for you."

Lucius looked at him and smiled coldly. " _You're_ going to judge me now? I make one quasi-legitimate, but _very_ consensual trade and get blackmailed for my trouble, and suddenly I'm the villain? She sent those pictures to Narcissa, you know, fully cognizant of the fact that they could destroy my marriage. And you call me low?" He turned the envelope over. "Misuse of Muggle Artifacts," he read out loud. He looked at Snape. "Weasley. The girl, the youngest. This suddenly all makes sense."

Snape sighed. He had not noticed the tiny print at the time. It was sloppy of Weasley to use that particular envelope. It was almost as if she wanted to get caught.

Lucius looked at the pictures again. "Have you seen these?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Lucius shrugged. "It's of no importance to me." He looked up at Snape. "Either way, I must thank you yet again, Severus. You have given me three items of value tonight: a vial of Enhanced Draught of Peace gratis, these remarkable pictures, and a name that I've awaited for days." 

Snape was losing the battle in a hurry. "Lucius, I need your assurance that you'll leave those two students alone."

Lucius looked at him. "Is this a streak of sympathy I see in you, Severus?"

Snape shook his head. "No," he answered, "Miss Granger and Miss Weasley got into this mess of their own free will."

"What then?"

"They are Hogwarts students. I'm a Hogwarts professor. They are my responsibility, burdensome though it sometimes is and they did come to me for help."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "So this, too, is your responsibility?" He held up the pictures. "Now that you mention it, I do recall Miss Granger saying that it was you who mentioned my name in conjunction with the silver dragon blood in the first place. Is that true?" 

"Yes," Snape said. He knew from long experience that there was no point in lying to Lucius.

"Why? If you were trying to protect her, why send her my direction? You of all people should know better than that." 

Snape looked at him with mild disgust. "You didn't collect on Miss Granger, did you, after...?"

Lucius smiled. "Don't I always?" he said. "You're the Hogwarts potions master. Surely you must understand the short-sightedness in letting such an opportunity go to waste..."

Snape shook his head slowly. "I thought you had grown out of it," he said. 

"Calm yourself, Severus, I won't use what I collected unless it seems necessary." He looked at the envelope. "Miss Granger wasn't the only one with a back-up plan." He looked back at Snape. "But I must insist that you tell me what the silver dragon blood was really for; suffice to say, you telling me would make me far less likely to execute that plan."

Snape stared at the floor. 

"Look at me," Lucius said. Snape looked up. Lucius continued. "We go back a long time, you and I. But know this, Severus: I've killed people for far less than this and only the truth will save your precious students now. Miss Granger said it was for a 7th Year final project, but I can say objectively that this is false. What was that blood really for?"

"Vigilant Presence," Snape answered, now looking at the envelope as well. "The Order wants to perform it on the Death Eaters, so that they and thus Dumbledore know where they are at all times and what they plan." 

"Do you mean to tell me _Dumbledore_ put her up to this?" For the first time, Lucius sounded genuinely surprised. 

Snape looked at him quickly. "Of course he didn't," he answered. "Miss Granger and Miss Weasley found out on their own, and then acted on the information they had, rashly, and independent of myself, Dumbledore, or the Order of the Phoenix." 

Lucius half smiled and shook his head. "How heroic of them. Who has the blood now?"

Snape turned around and took the tiny vial out of the box. He held it up. 

Lucius moved towards Snape and held out his hand. "I'll be needing that back of course," he said. 

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to break your word to Miss Granger yet again?"

Lucius sighed in irritation, his hand still outstretched. "For the record, she lied to me from the outset. Thus, I felt no compunction over holding out on her; in fact, I like to think of it as teaching her a valuable lesson. Moreover, even if I had given Miss Granger my word, which I most certainly did _not_..."

"You didn't?"

"No, Professor. She made the offer. I said I would think about it. I asked her if powdered, concentrated silver dragon blood was what she wanted, never actually agreeing to it. I told her if she failed to please me, the deal was off, never specifying exactly what that meant..."

"Very well, I understand," Snape said, holding up a hand to stop him, "As usual, you've let yourself out on a technicality."

"How well you know me, Severus," Lucius said. "The point remains, however, that I can't let you keep it knowing what it's truly for. Surely you must understand that." 

Snape drew his hand away. "Only if you promise me that you'll leave those two girls in peace."

"Fine," Lucius snapped. "Now hand it over."

Snape dropped the vial into Lucius' outstretched hand. Lucius examined it for a moment before putting it in an inner pocket. He looked at Snape once more. "However," Lucius said, "This promise is not limitless; if they so much as look my way from now on, I cannot ensure their safety. And now, I need some assurance from you."

"Assurance of what?"

"That these are all of the pictures."

Snape sighed. He met Lucius' gray eyes with his own dark ones. "Every single one," Snape said.

Lucius turned an empty cauldron over on Snape's desk and set the pictures inside, keeping just one. He drew forth his wand. _"Incendio,"_ he said. He stepped back. "Farewell then, old friend," he said, holding his hand out for Snape to shake. Snape clasped his hand. Lucius drew him in close. "Your position is untenable, Severus," he whispered in Snape's ear, "For your own well-being, I hope you realize that. The Dark Lord does not trust you and, despite our alliance, I too question your loyalty at times. Think long and hard whose side you're truly on." He let go and left swiftly, slamming the door behind him.


	4. 11: Career Move; 12: Rift; 13: The Third Envelope; 14: Negotiation; 15: The Other Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny has a flashback that solidifies some of her choices. Snape gives Hermione and Ginny news that relieves the former and incenses the latter. The situation between Hermione and Ginny comes to a head and in the aftermath, Ginny makes a bold, albeit selfish, decision. Narcissa Malfoy starts to control the damage by seeking to divide and conquer, only to find her two adversaries already split. Armed with this new information, Lucius decides to mobilize.
> 
>  _"None of my business?" Ginny echoed. "On the contrary, it has been my_ business _from the beginning." Still smiling, she advanced on Hermione. "Did you take my advice? Touch him, let him touch you with those hands that have slain so many Muggles?"_
> 
> _"Stop it," Hermione said, her heart beating faster. In addition to angering her, Ginny was starting to frighten her as well. Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes as the power of Ginny's hatred radiated off of her like heat from a furnace._
> 
> _"Muggles like your parents, Hermione," Ginny continued, coming ever closer. "You do realize that if their paths crossed, your precious lover would kill them without a second thought, don't you?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone said in a comment that they didn't know who to root for. Good. That means I'm doing my job. Thanks for reading, folks.

CHAPTER 11: CAREER MOVE

_Wake up. Wake up, Ginny._

_No, Tom, I'm too tired. You wake me up all the time. Whatever it is, I can't do it, not tonight. Let me sleep, for the love of everything holy._

_Oh, Ginny, that's sweet how you think this is somehow optional. It's not. And I don't love anything holy. You've known me long enough to realize that, or so I would think. Here, I'll even help you, so great is my generosity of spirit._

_Ow, that hurts, Tom! Stop it._

_Then do it yourself, young Ginny. Move those arms and those legs. We're going. Put on your robe. And your shoes._

_We're going outside? Now?_

_No, when you feel like doing it, you lazy little twit. Yes, now. If you resist me again, I'll make you tell Harry how much you like him._

_All right, all right._

_How you're writing_ Mrs. Ginny Potter _on your notebooks and drawing hearts all around. Pathetic. But I think fairly interesting to any 12-year-old boy, particularly the object of your infatuation. And probably a number of your other classmates as well._

_I said I would do it, Tom. I'm sorry, all right?_

_Ah, there's the deference I prefer to hear from you. Yes...shoes...socks if you have them. Now, out of the portait hole and down the stairs._

_What about Filch?_

_Do you really think I wouldn't tell you if that filthy Squib was coming round? Have a little faith in me and my ability to protect you, Ginny... No, go through the kitchens, you silly girl, not through the Great Hall. Don't worry about the house elves. If you rouse one, just kick it hard in the side of the head. It'll fall right back asleep. I'll help you if I must. If you're too weak. If you don't want to do that, just be quiet. Silent. Stealthy. There you go, back to the chicken coop. Find the rooster._

_Oh, the pretty one with the long tail feathers? He's lovely. We have a white one, but the green ones are so much nicer, don't you think?_

_Shut your mouth._

_I was just--_

_And kill it._

_I can't, Tom._

_Stop crying this instant. Be grateful I'm not asking you to kill a fellow student. Or a family member. I could, you know. It's just a rooster, my brave little Gryffindor. Kill it now. If I have to ask you again..._

_Oh God. All right._

_Use your hands. One quick twist and it's done._

_He's pecking me, Tom. He doesn't like this._

_Then hurry up. And stop crying. You're the one who's making it suffer, not me._

_That was horrible. I felt his bones crunch under my hands, Tom. Please don't make me do that again._

_Fine. I won't._

_Oh, thank you, Tom._

_After you do the next five._

_No, Tom, please..._

_They'll get easier. You'll get harder. That's how killing works, girl. You kill, and you kill, and you kill again until the bones crunching under your hands will be no more meaningful to you than snapping kindling. You'll see, my tiny killer...My destroyer of roosters...My Ginny..._

Ginny woke up with a start. The dreams were getting worse, pretty much ever since the night of the trade, but if Ginny thought back, they had re-started shortly after Lucius Malfoy had gotten out of prison. Of course, for the year or so after Tom Riddle had taken over her mind and her body, Ginny had had the dreams frequently. Her mother had taken her to St. Mungo's once a week after her first year, all summer, to see a Healer who specialized in recovery from mind control spells. She had been a lovely petite witch named Bernadette, who specialized in the Imperius Curse, but who did a good job with Ginny working through the horror of what had happened to her. 

By the beginning of Ginny's third year at Hogwarts, the dreams were pretty much gone. They had returned briefly after Harry had told her that he had seen Lucius Malfoy slip the diary into her cauldron that day in Flourish & Blotts. Ginny had found out right after the Department of Mysteries, once Lucius had been arrested. She wasn't sure why Harry had chosen that moment to tell her, perhaps to make her feel vindicated even more than she already did for all of the Death Eaters, including Lucius, going to prison. 

Harry had asked her not to tell her family, and for whatever reason, she wasn't even tempted to. It didn't seem to matter. The vendetta between her father and Lucius had cooled down by then and Lucius was behind bars, indefinitely, or so Ginny thought, so she kept it to herself. She just couldn't see the benefit in sharing it. 

Ginny sat up. Her roommates were already getting ready and Ginny joined them. She splashed water on her face, and then scrubbed hard with a washcloth until her face turned pink and started to tingle. It was as if she was trying to rub off the dream, a throwback habit to when she was 11 and Tom had been in her head, as if by rubbing her skin red, she could somehow eradicate him. It never worked. Tom would just come back, by turns solicitous, charming, or cruel, constantly keeping her guessing, her bosom confidant one moment, her arbitrary task master the next. The worst part about it, the part where Ginny truly thought she was going around the bend, was when she couldn't differentiate between her thoughts and his, so entrenched was Tom in her mind. 

After the few scattered dreams she had experienced following the summer of her fourth year and the Department of Mysteries, Ginny thought she was done. But every time she had seen Lucius Malfoy, his very presence reminded Ginny that he was the gatekeeper, the wizard solely responsible for making her first year at Hogwarts a living hell, both awake and asleep. And, following the exchange, the dreams returned, stronger than ever. 

Thus, after night following night of re-living what Ginny had thought dead, getting revenge on Lucius was more than just an idea, cleverly executed through Hermione, but an absolute necessity. As far as Ginny was concerned, it was the only way to get rid of the dreams. She splashed water on her face once more for good measure, changed into her school robes and went to gather her things together. She looked around in frustration as she realized she couldn't find her copy of _Advanced Transfiguration._ She finally realized that she had thrown it into her trunk the night previous. She opened her trunk and moved some robes and jumpers around until she found it. When she picked it up, she noticed several tri-folded pieces of parchment.

After stowing the book in her bag, she picked up the parchment and read the cover sheet. _Application for Auror Internship,_ it read. She had forgotten that Professor McGonagall had given it to her a few weeks back. Ginny looked at her watch. Thanks to Tom Riddle, she had woken up 15 minutes early, and so had time to fill it out now. The pulled _Advanced Transfiguration_ onto her lap to use it as a hard surface, along with a quill. The top sheet was basic demographic information. She filled it out, her quill scratching over the surface of the paper. 

Professor McGonagall had told her that typically, the Auror office only offered internships to students who had completed their education, and of course, who were of legal age, but in light of what had happened at the Department of Mysteries, Kingsley Shacklebolt was willing to waive the age requirement, provided that her parents consented. That had caused a rift. Her mother, of course, was horrified with the idea and flatly refused. "It's bad enough that she almost died at the hands of the Death Eaters," she had said (no, screamed) at Ginny's father, "and now you want to put her in harm's way again."

"Because she proved herself, Molly." Ginny's father was quiet, but firm. "It's what Ginny wants, and if stopping these wizards and witches comes at the hands of our youngsters, then so be it. Like it or not, these are the times we're living in. And someone has to stop people like them." He had smiled and subtly winked at Ginny when he said that, but it was rueful, bittersweet. In the end, he had signed the waiver, and Ginny only had to fill out the rest of the application.

The second page was a series of questions about herself, in short-answer form, i.e., why she wanted to become an Auror, what she felt her strengths were, what she felt her weaknesses were, what she was hoping to get out of the Auror program, etc. The third through sixth pages were a transcript blank for Professor McGonagall to fill out, sign, and notarize. 

The final page was a waiver for Ginny herself to sign. It read:

 _I, the undersigned, to hereby grant permission for the Auror Division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to administer such assessments as its cadre deems appropriate to measure my suitability for the position of Auror, and to undergo instruction aligning with the objectives of the Auror Division. I sign in full awareness that such tests and training may cause me physical, psychological, and spiritual harm. In signing, I subsequently relinquish any actionable position this may convey upon myself or my kin against the Auror Division, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or the Ministry of Magic._

Ginny read the statement twice, focusing on the phrase _physical, psychological, and spiritual harm._ Tom Riddle had already inflicted all of that upon her, which was the entire reason that she wanted to pursue Aurorship, although he had been right about one thing. By the fifth and sixth rooster, Ginny had lost the majority of her sensitivity and had become as coldly competent at killing as Tom had surmised she would be. Both specifically and generally, he had helped prepare her for Aurorship, not just in making her undergo such unpleasant tasks, but in sneaking around and learning, to some extent, how Dark Wizards operated. 

With this in mind, her jaw set, Ginny dashed off her full name, folded the paper up, and put it in her bag. She would give it to McGonagall that day and then bend her mind and will to do everything in her power to destroy Lucius Malfoy, no matter the cost.

CHAPTER 12: RIFT

Snape asked both Hermione and Ginny to see him at the end of the academic day. In an echo of the day before, they followed him down the narrow spiral staircase to his office.

"Close the door, Miss Granger," Snape ordered as he sat down behind his desk.

Hermione did as Professor Snape asked, and then joined Ginny where she stood in front of Snape's desk. 

"Sit, both of you." His words were quieter and more modulated than they had been the day before, and Hermione was thankful that he had calmed down. She and Ginny sat side by side on the couch. Snape steepled his fingers underneath his chin and eyed the two girls. "I rectified the situation with Lucius Malfoy," he said.

The girls exchanged a glance. 

"Really?" said Hermione, unable to keep the relief out of her voice.

Ginny glared at her before looking back at Snape. "How?" she demanded.

Snape sighed and leaned back in his chair. "He insisted upon taking back the silver dragon blood and I let him keep it."

"WHAT?" Ginny stood.

Hermione just shook her head. It was a regretable outcome, but not an unexpected one. Still, it meant that it was done. That alone made Hermione feel considerably lighter. Ginny, however, clearly did not share her view. 

Snape looked dispassionately at Ginny. "Sit down, Miss Weasley." Ginny hesitated for a moment, and then obeyed, her face twisted with resentment. "First of all," Snape said, "I don't recall anyone asking you to engage in this brainless idea. The Order had it well in hand."

"No you didn't," Ginny retorted. "You said only Lucius Malfoy had the silver dragon blood, and that the Order needed it, _and_ that you had no idea how you were going to get it."

"You mean when the two of you were eavesdropping on a private conversation?"

"It doesn't make it any less true, does it?" Ginny folded her arms.

Snape remained as completely unmoved as Hermione would have expected. "Be that as it may, I don't recall either Professor McGonagall or myself begging for your assistance. In point of fact, the main objective you achieved was to compromise the plan to use Vigilant Presence at all: it is now absolutely useless thanks to your meddling. And second, you sniveling little ingrate, that was his price for sparing both of your worthless skins. I also feel compelled to tell you that he does know that you were involved, Miss Weasley, despite my omission of your name. I have difficulty believing that your family is in such desperate financial straits as to make you re-purpose a three-Knut envelope that clearly read _Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office_. Even a simpleton could have put two and two together. I truly cannot save you from yourself, it would seem."

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind at the dark look on Snape's face.

He looked at Hermione now. "You two don't have the slightest comprehension whom you are crossing, and the both of you should be kissing my feet for taking you off of his list of people to harm, and believe you me, that list is never a long one." 

"Why should he be able to have any sort of list?" Ginny asked. 

Snape cocked an eyebrow and looked back at her. "Because he can, Miss Weasley. Try not to be more naïve than you have to be. Ruthless people do ruthless things because they can; it's probably best if you get used to that idea." Snape folded his hands on his desk and looked down at them. His next words were quiet. "I know him better than any wizard alive does. He has no scruples, no remorse, infinite resources, and almost never gets caught." 

"He got caught two years ago in the Department of Mysteries," Ginny pointed out. 

Snape looked back up. "He got caught that time only because he was where the Dark Lord asked him to be, when he asked him to be there, and his capture ensured the escape of the Dark Lord. None of that was an accident and had he acted alone, it never would have happened."

"But he did get caught," Ginny insisted. "He now has a criminal record."

Snape sighed. "He also has been pardoned by the Minister of Magic himself, who used to be the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, as I'm sure you know. You're missing the point and, as usual, jumping to the wrong conclusions. For the time being, Lucius Malfoy is pacified with the fact that he has the silver dragon blood back as well as the incriminating photographs." He glared at Ginny and Hermione once more. "What I need from you again is a promise that those were all of them."

"Of course," Ginny snapped. "Now we have nothing." 

Snape looked at Hermione. "And if you are lying to me, which I suspect you are, know this. If he believes any still exist, and that you would be reckless enough to send them to the _Prophet_ as you threatened to do, he will not rest until he has exacted his revenge."

"And you'd just rush right to the rescue, wouldn't you? Glad to know whose side you're on," Ginny muttered. 

"Do you really think I had nothing better to do with my time than to clean up your mess?" Snape asked, his voice low.

Ginny turned angrily to Hermione instead. "And you," she fumed, "You're welcome to weigh in any time you want to."

Stunned, Hermione felt her jaw drop. She recovered quickly and narrowed her eyes at Ginny. "What do you want me to say?" Hermione said. "It's not as if Professor Snape could help us if Lucius Malfoy _did_ choose to take revenge."

"Very astute, Miss Granger, and why is that?" Snape asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. "In order to defeat You-Know-Who, you must appear to side with the Malfoys, even if it puts other members of the Order in danger, including us."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Snape said, sounding weary. "Now get out of my office. I'm sick of the sight of both of you."

With an irate sigh, Ginny scooped up her backpack and stormed out. Hermione chased behind her, back up the stairs into the now-deserted Potions classroom.

"Ginny, wait," Hermione called after her.

Ginny stopped at the door and turned towards her. "I can't believe you," she said.

Hermione looked at her incredulously. "Ginny, we're done," she said. "You heard Professor Snape. Lucius Malfoy has the blood and now the Order can't use it anyway."

"Because _he_ told Malfoy the plan; _he_ compromised the Order, not us!" Ginny punctuated her words with a finger pointed in the direction of Snape's office.

"Didn't you hear Snape just now? He did it to save us," Hermione said, raising her voice. "It's over, Ginny. We tried and we failed."

"After the hell he put you through, he took the blood back," Ginny said, shaking her head. "We can't let him do that, Hermione. This is the reason Malfoy gets away with horrible things, the reason he gets away with literal murder, because _no one_ holds him accountable, _no one_ takes him to task. There are never any meaningful sanctions on his behavior, and so he keeps it up, over and over and over." Her voice too was rising in pitch and volume. 

Hermione grabbed Ginny by the arms. "Ginny," she said. "Stop. Continuing to pursue this is completely pointless. Listen to yourself. Why is this so important to you?"

Ginny looked away, breathing hard.

Hermione dropped her hands. "I've already made my peace with it," she said. "Why can't you do the same? _I'm_ the one he took advantage of. _I'm_ the one he humiliated. _I'm_ the one he hurt. But I've already confronted him. I've already given him his day of reckoning." She looked down. "And I've already forgiven him. You need to also." She looked back up at Ginny, searching her face for some sign of understanding, or at the very least, reason, and finding none.

Instead, Ginny was looking at her with sudden comprehension. "Oh my God," she said softly. "You're taking up for him."

Hermione sighed. "That's not what this is," she said. "I'm just being pragmatic as well as realistic about the situation."

"Don't lie to me," Ginny said, glaring at her. "You still want him."

"It doesn't matter, Ginny." Hermione rubbed her head with one hand. Her head had been intermittently aching since hitting it on the desk in Potions, and the conversations with Snape and now with Ginny were not making it feel any better. Incidentally, however, the soreness between her legs was completely gone, thanks in no small part to Lucius' advice. _Ready for round two,_ her mind evilly reminded her.

"You didn't deny it," Ginny said. She smiled suddenly, like sunlight on a knife blade. "What happened after I left, Hermione?" she asked, her voice now hushed and vicious. 

"It's none of your business, actually," Hermione said icily.

"None of my business?" Ginny echoed. "On the contrary, it has been my _business_ from the beginning." Still smiling, she advanced on Hermione. "Did you take my advice? Touch him, let him touch you with those hands that have slain so many Muggles?"

"Stop it," Hermione said, her heart beating faster. In addition to angering her, Ginny was starting to frighten her as well. Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes as the power of Ginny's hatred radiated off of her like heat from a furnace. 

"Muggles like your parents, Hermione," Ginny continued, coming ever closer. "You do realize that if their paths crossed, your precious lover would kill them without a second thought, don't you?" 

Hermione felt the tears slip down her face and angrily brushed them away. "Stop it," she whispered. 

"And you want to forgive him!" Ginny yelled suddenly, making Hermione jump. Ginny shook her head and looked at Hermione with derision. "Well, small wonder really, if he made you come. I'll bet _that_ was a first too. Amazing feeling, isn't it? Nothing in the world like it. Too bad for you, it was at the hands, or perhaps I should say, the _cock_ of a sadistic, prejudiced, narcissistic piece of--"

She cut off as Hermione slapped her across the face as hard as she could. 

Ginny's eyes widened in shock and she immediately put her hand up to her now-reddening cheek. The silence in the room was so complete and so sudden that Hermione's ears rang. Ginny recovered quickly and looked at Hermione with revulsion. "You two deserve each other," she spat. She shouldered her bag and stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the jars on the shelves rattled.

Hermione took her time walking back. She felt incredibly alone and numb, so walking it off, putting her left foot in front of her right, over and over, regardless of where her feet took her, helped somewhat. When Hermione finally got back to a mercifully Ginny-free Gryffindor tower, she climbed all the way up to her room, not speaking to anyone and flopped on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Before she had a moment to re-hash all that had happened that day, she heard the unmistakable tapping of an owl's beak on her window. She got up, crossed to the window and opened it. A barn owl waited for her, a letter attached to its leg. She liberated the letter and the owl flapped away into the dusk. 

There was no return address. Curious, Hermione closed the window. She tossed the letter onto her bed and lit a candle. She then sat back on her bed and turned the letter over. The seal was an elaborate upper-case M, embossed on black wax with a sparkle of green in it, as if someone had crushed emeralds into it. When Hermione realized who the letter was likely from, she swallowed and decided that yes, that was exactly what the seal was made from. She broke it and unfolded the creamy paper.

_Miss Granger,_

_Present yourself to Room 2, upstairs in the Hog's Head tonight at midnight and we shall speak, as I realized upon viewing some recent pictures in which you were the subject, we have at least one thing in common. There will be no need for company as I believe you'll agree what we have to discuss should be held in the utmost discretion. If it would make you more comfortable, I swear on Draco's life that no harm shall befall you._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Hermione swallowed. There was not a question in her mind that she was going to do it, but despite Mrs. Malfoy's assurance that no harm would come to her, she was still uneasy. After all, she had wronged this woman that she had never met. Well, she could at least try and apologize. There was no harm in that. Also, she would be lying if she said she wasn't curious about the other woman in Lucius' life. A strange compulsion pushed her to meet Narcissa Malfoy, and now here was an invitation to do just that.

CHAPTER 13: THE THIRD ENVELOPE

Her heart racing, Ginny marched out of Snape's dungeon. Anger coursed through her veins like poison. She looked neither left nor right as she climbed staircase after staircase, neither slowing down nor speeding up. Classmates said hello to her and she barely heard them over the buzzing that filled her ears. At Gryffindor tower, she told the Fat Lady the password and went to her dormitory. She threw her bag onto her bed and took her canvas post sack out. 

She opened it and shot her arm into the bottom as if diving for the Golden Snitch itself. She brought forth the very last of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts envelopes. She undid the drawstring on her school bag and, as she had two other times, dropped it in and closed the bag once more. She stowed her post bag once again and left the dormitory. 

Another trip to the Owlery tower, this time on her own. Another crunch of her bag onto the bone-strewn floor. Another address angrily scrawled on the envelope, this one different than the last. Another swipe of her ink-stained fingers onto her Hogwarts robe, but this time no Hermione to scold her, or to stop her for that matter. Ginny smiled in grim satisfaction as she attached the envelope to the owl's leg and watched it fly into the sky, the late afternoon sun bloody on its back. 

Ginny turned and was about to leave, but she noticed one owl was perched on her bag, its great yellow eyes staring at her imperiously. "Don't you judge me," she scolded the owl. In response, the owl tilted its head jerkily to the side and hooted. It held its leg up and Ginny noticed that it held a letter. "For me?" she asked. The owl hooted again, patiently, its leg still up. 

It was a gorgeous bird, an eagle owl, mottled black and gray, staring at her with commanding indignation under slanted black eyebrows. In fact, it looked very much like Draco Malfoy's owl. Ginny detached the letter and it hooted at her once more and put its leg down. Curious, Ginny opened the letter and skimmed it quickly. Upon seeing who had written it, Ginny realized that the reason the owl looked like Draco's was because it was Draco's owl:

_Miss Weasley,_

_After viewing your unsolicited, and yet stunning photographs, I should very much like to meet you in person. Please join me in Room 3 at the Hog's Head tonight at 11:00 as nothing would please me more than to discuss your future. There will be no need for you to bring any company; I imagine you shall be quite safe if you were to come alone._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Ginny had to smirk at that. The contents were exactly the sugar-coated poison that she might expect from their writer. Nonetheless, the letter was still careful enough that if the owl bearing it were intercepted, nothing about its contents would arouse any suspicion. Ginny would have to be careful with its writer when she met with her this evening, and meet with her, she certainly would. 

CHAPTER 14: NEGOTIATION

Shortly before the appointed time, Ginny huddled under Harry’s Invisibility cloak and left Hogwarts via the passageway underneath the One-Eyed Witch statue, and entered the streets of Hogsmeade in the pouring rain. The Hog’s Head looked even less reputable in the dark, and unsavory wizards and witches, more than a little drunk, strode in and out the open door, making it easy for Ginny to slip in unnoticed. Behind the door, in the shadows, Ginny took off the Invisibility Cloak and stowed it in her school bag. She strode up to the bar. "I'm here for the private party in Room 3,” she told the surly, grizzled bartender.

He paused from drying a glass, and gave her a surly look, as if Ginny were interrupting a summoning ritual and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back,” he grumbled. 

Ginny thanked him. She traipsed down the fetid hallway to a back room with the number _3_ on the door. Ginny heard some suspect noises from behind the other doors and shrugged. “Different ways to skin a gnome, I suppose,” she muttered to herself. She knocked sharply on the door. The door opened on its own, and she stepped into the room. The door then shut behind them with a bang and Ginny jumped slightly.

A figure sat at a table in front of her. She was dressed in a black velvet cloak with a silver lining, which shadowed her features, save one long wisp of blonde hair. A familiar golden envelope lay on the table, along with an empty glass.

“Mrs. Malfoy?” Ginny asked.

Narcissa Malfoy slowly pushed her hood down with one graceful hand and looked up and fixed Ginny with stunning hazel eyes. “Sit,” Mrs. Malfoy said, gesturing to the chair across from her.

“I’m not your house-elf,” Ginny retorted. She walked over to the table.

Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“And you should. I didn’t stutter. You asked me here, remember? Aren't rich people supposed to have class?” 

Mrs. Malfoy inclined her head a few degrees. "Please...sit." She enunciated each word. 

Ginny pulled the wooden chair away from the table and sat, then folded her arms in front of her.  
“I need to know the exact circumstances of this,” Mrs. Malfoy commanded, tapping the envelope that lay between them with one manicured nail. 

“Revenge.”

Mrs. Malfoy smiled coldly. “Spare me your melodrama. No one in their right mind would set my husband up for blackmail without an immensely compelling reason. So, what was so important?”

“I can’t tell you that, seeing as you’re not on my side.”

Mrs. Malfoy smirked. “Which side would that be? Dumbledore’s Army? Gryffindor? Or perhaps you simply mean the side against Lucius. Well then, you’re right on all counts. But, the point is clear. You still don’t have what you want. If you did, you wouldn't have bothered to risk severe punishment in coming out in the rain to meet me tonight.” She sat back once more. “And perhaps I can give it to you.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “How do I know you’re not in league with the Dark Lord?”

Mrs. Malfoy rubbed the side of her head in irritation. “This has nothing to do with him, I assure you. All I care about is that this stays out of the public eye. Lucius can embarrass himself with teenage witches if it pleases him; at the end of the day, he'll always come back to me, but I’ll not let anyone ruin Draco’s chances. In exchange, I’ll provide whatever it was that my husband denied you.”

Ginny shook her head firmly. “You’re asking me to un-cast a spell; I can’t do that.”

“You won’t do it, you mean.”

“Even if I could, I have no reason to do it for you, and that particular envelope has already gone off to the _Prophet_. Ginny dropped her hand to the table and fiddled with the corner of the envelope. “And honestly, it should make the papers. I wasn’t being melodramatic when I talked about revenge. If your husband doesn't get what he deserves for the horrible things he's done, what's the point?” 

“What indeed? Have you actually thought at all about the impact that this would have on the wizarding world if it did become public?”

Mrs. Malfoy's faintly amused, almost gloating tone started to sew seeds of doubt in Ginny's mind. Nonetheless, Ginny opted to play it casual, so she simply shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter. The damage would be done.” 

Mrs. Malfoy smiled at Ginny without warmth. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Very well, then, I’ll enlighten you, little girl, because I know my husband, and I know the measure of his resolve, especially when someone has bested him.” She leaned forward, held up her fingers and ticked them off one at a time. “First, it is unlikely that the _Daily Prophet_ would ever, ever dare to print it, regardless of how many papers it would sell, so right away you’re at a disadvantage. Now, I don’t know how good a friend your contact at the _Daily Prophet_ is to you, but I can tell you right now, if he somehow managed to print the story, he would be dead before the morning edition went out with the owls. Granted, this presupposes that Lucius would figure out who he was, but being the resourceful, determined sort of wizard that Lucius is, be assured that he would.

“Second, this would completely destroy your friend, the _other_ subject of these pictures. Let me paint you a picture. She’s in Flourish  & Blotts. People are pretending not to stare at her, but they whisper from behind their hands and point, with pity at best and derision at worst. In the former, she's a victim, in the latter, a whore. Obviously, neither label is particularly enviable and both labels are arguably true. This reputation will stay with her for a very long time, through, say, gaining acceptance into any sort of higher learning institution, starting a career, finding love..." Mrs. Malfoy took a moment to examine her shapely nails. "Now, that inconvenient fact must not bother you too much, seeing as how said victim or whore is not with you tonight."

"Wait, but you told me--"

"To come alone? Yes, I did. But it was merely a test to see how loyal you actually are to your friend Miss Granger. And I must say, so far you have failed spectacularly."

For the first time, Ginny felt a twinge of remorse. 

Mrs. Malfoy dropped her hand back to the table and continued. “Also, it’s unlikely that anything will happen to Lucius because of this. Blackmail is illegal, so honestly, you’ll come out the worst. It's going to seem strange that you just so happened to be in the right place at the right time. The entrapment is transparent in the fact that these pictures even exist. Moreover, it will reflect poorly on both the school and its illustrious headmaster, seeing as this happened right under his nose and yet he did nothing.

“Third, picture what Miss Granger's parents will do when they find out. Can you imagine the humiliation that your friend will feel when she has to face them after this? A scandal of this magnitude knows no difference between magical and Muggle culture; it's shocking either way. Fourth, imagine what _your_ parents will do when they find out how you were involved. After all the strife between your father and my husband, surely even you can admit that nothing good can come of it.

“But none of this really matters because fifth, you’d be dead, in a way neither quick nor painless. One of the worst-kept secrets in the wizarding world is that Lucius is an adept torturer; in fact, prior to his incarceration, he was the Dark Lord's chief interrogator, or as the Dark Lord termed it, _extractor_.” Mrs. Malfoy said all of this in a very matter-of-fact way, as if discussing Galleon trading or something equally banal. She shut her hand and leaned back again. “So, as you can see, even if you win, you lose.”

Ginny had to admit that the idea of revenge had overshadowed any rationality. In the hours elapsing since she had sent the pictures off to the Daily Prophet, her mind had cooled and she had started thinking some of the exact same things Mrs. Malfoy was now relaying to her. Ginny's mouth had suddenly gone dry. She swallowed, feeling overwhelmed and suddenly very weary. “Why are you telling me all this?” she finally asked. “I'm dead either way, so I might as well take him out, seeing as I seemingly have nothing to lose.”

Now it was Mrs. Malfoy's turn to shrug, but in her case, her nonchalance was probably legitimate. “Not necessarily. As far as Lucius is concerned, no pictures exist and he has his silver dragon blood back. He won’t consider you a threat unless you cross him again. And, as I’ve spelled out for you, crossing him again would be the last thing you did. Why do you think the Malfoys are the oldest wizarding family in Britain?”

“Inbreeding?”

Mrs. Malfoy ignored her jibe. “Uncompromising, unhesitating extermination of our enemies. As it stands, you are no longer his enemy. Why change that?”

“Because he shouldn’t be able to get away with things like that,” Ginny answered. “And because his power stems directly from how much people fear him.” She shook her head grimly. “That needs to change.”

Mrs. Malfoy smiled. “Aren’t you a brave Gryffindor? Bear in mind, no one forced you two to undertake this,” she said, echoing Snape as she gestured to the envelope once more. “If you can’t or won’t stop it going to print, it will hurt you much more than us, but do as your heart bids you, by all means. We'll just write on your tombstone, 'was it worth it?'”

Ginny looked at the table. "There is nothing you can say that will change my mind." She said it quietly but with determination. "The things that he does--" She shook her head, and then looked up. "Can never be forgiven." 

Mrs. Malfoy looked at her strangely. "It's not as if he laid a hand on _you_...or did he?"

Ginny sighed. "No, Mrs. Malfoy, I'd already had a Death Eater in me, long before this. He entered me in an unspeakably invasive and intimate way which, incidentally, was completely non-sexual, but absolute and irrevocable nonetheless. The Dark Lord raped my mind and my will in the ultimate violation. And your husband was instrumental in making it happen."

There was a pause, and then understanding settled in Mrs. Malfoy's hazel eyes.

"The diary..." She said softly.

Ginny nodded. "So, as _you_ can see, I'm not going to stop this, come what may." She got up and took the invisibility cloak out of her bag. "And you can tell your husband that as well."

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Malfoy sounded surprised.

Ginny fixed her with an icy stare. "Absolutely. I wouldn't have come tonight if I didn't want him to know. Do your worst." She was gratified to see Mrs. Malfoy actually look discomfited, as if she wasn't exactly sure what to do. 

She finally looked at Ginny with what almost looked like sympathy. "I feel sorry for your family, then," she finally said. "I find you tiresome, but they will no doubt miss you when you're gone."

Ginny put her backpack back on. "They know I'm strong," she said.

When Mrs. Malfoy spoke again, her voice was soft. "Lucius is stronger," she said.

The way she said it, that mixture of both pride in Lucius and pity for Ginny chilled her. She turned without another word and left, the doubt now filling her belly like a cold slab of lead.

CHAPTER 15: THE OTHER WOMAN

That night at home, after visiting the Hog's Head, Narcissa rested on her chaise, hoping for sleep, but finding it elusive. Now that it was morning she stared at the ceiling, which was painted and enchanted to resemble a pastoral sky. Golden clouds moved slowly across the pink ceiling in a reflection of the outside climate: such a benign atmosphere outside for such wretched events within. After almost two decades of a marriage peppered with affairs, Lucius' infidelity still stung as his conquests grew younger and Narcissa grew older. 

Not that she hadn't been warned early on by her mother, Druella, that rich and powerful men _had_ always, _would_ always have affairs. _The only thing you can control, Cissy, is your own reaction to them,_ Druella had said, a perspective no doubt informed by her own husband's wayward habits. Narcissa sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. The infamous pictures lay on the floor next to her, proof of the veracity of her mother's cynical prophecy. Narcissa bent down and picked the pictures up. She studied them as she reflected back to her conversation with Lucius' latest pick the night before. 

It had been clear that Hermione Granger had been petrified of Narcissa. After the Weasley girl had left, Narcissa had gathered her things, gone back to the bar, ordered another adult beverage, and switched rooms. The ticking of the clock on the mantel and the soft clink of ice cubes marked the time as Narcissa sat in wait for her second quarry. At the stroke of midnight, she heard a timid tapping on the door.

"Enter," she commanded.

Hermione traipsed into the room as if the floor were littered with dragon's eggs and shut the door quietly behind her. She stayed with her back to the door and looked at Narcissa, her brown eyes wide.

Narcissa looked her up and down. The girl was certainly pretty, although her eyes had a haunted look that made her appear vulnerable and innocent. _Hence the attraction,_ Narcissa thought bitterly. Narcissa gestured to the chair opposite her. With the same trepidation, Hermione edged across the floor and sat down. 

Narcissa said nothing and just fixed the girl with a dead-eyed stare. Hermione fidgeted and stared at her lap.

Finally, Narcissa spoke: “How old are you?”

“18 or thereabouts,” came the mumbled reply. 

"Thereabouts?"

"For a while, time moved differently for me than for everyone else, which makes me a little older and thus, unsure of my exact age." Although Hermione was clearly nervous, she spoke with a surprising precision that suggested intelligence and eloquence. Between that and the audacity she had demonstrated with her part in the blackmail scheme, Narcissa felt a tiny frisson of fear: this young woman was exactly Lucius' type: smart, beautiful, and completely unwilling to tolerate the less savory aspects of his personality. _Like yourself, but younger,_ her mind told her, unhelpfully, _this one's mistress material._

Narcissa briefly considered asking for Hermione to elaborate on her cryptic statement, but then decided that she didn't actually care. “Were you of age when this happened?” Narcissa asked, moving her hand over the envelope.

Hermione nodded without lifting her eyes. 

“Was it consensual?” Both these pieces of information were vitally important. If it had been as one-sided as it appeared in the pictures, and if Hermione had been underage, Lucius would not have had smallest chance at acquittal, particularly if Dumbledore spoke against him, which he would no doubt have done in a trial that involved one of his students. 

“Yes,” Hermione mumbled again.

Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief. “Look me in the eye and say it again,” she ordered.

Hermione’s head snapped up as if attached to a wire. “It was consensual,” she said, a bit louder. "He made a point that it was, multiple times, as a matter of fact." 

“I see." Narcissa shook her head. "What were you thinking?”

Hermione looked up and her tone, and in fact her whole demeanor changed, becoming colder and more calculating than Narcissa had expected: “The whole thing was meant as a business transaction, nothing more.” She said the words without any apparent regret.

“So you admit to prostitution.”

“Yes,” Hermione said unflinchingly.

“Then why take pictures?”

“The pictures were meant as insurance. We had no way of making him keep his word, nor did we expect him to.”

Narcissa pursed her lips. “Well, I suppose I have to admit that it was wise, knowing Lucius. Your friend’s idea was a good one in that respect, albeit the only good one.” Narcissa paused. “Well, then, what went wrong?” 

“I really don’t understand why you’re asking me all of this.”

Narcissa sighed. “What I don’t understand is why you’d leave your nice snug bed in Hogwarts and compromise your own future in coming down here, and then not come clean to the person you wronged.”

Hermione looked at her own lap once more.

Narcissa continued. “You know you wronged me. Or perhaps you just wanted to meet me; I don’t know. So, let’s not waste each other’s time. You used me, so you know perfectly well that I deserve an explanation. What went wrong?”

“Fine,” Hermione said. She looked back up at Narcissa. “I did wrong you, although that was never the point. In fact, for many reasons, I’m sorry that we had to involve you at all. However, before I tell you what happened, I'll tell you the same thing I told your husband the night I confronted him with the pictures: if he had held up his end of the bargain, we never would have had to resort to this.” She reached out and tapped the envelope.

"Very well. Now tell me.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “We wanted silver dragon blood. The intent was to trade my virginity for it. At first, your husband delivered pig’s blood.” 

Narcissa smirked. 

Hermione looked at her balefully. “And no, before you ask, the implication was not lost on me. But more than that, he broke his word."

Narcissa cocked her head to the side. "Are you sure about that?"

Hermione's brows furrowed. "He agreed to the deal and then reneged on it."

"I find that unlikely. Did he actually promise you? I ask because it's rare for Lucius to commit himself in any sort of binding way. With things like this, he tends to create an exit strategy and he is nothing if not careful. Actually, you should know that everything he says or does is calculated." Narcissa said flatly. "Everything."

Hermione sighed. "Now that you bring it up, technically I suppose he didn't agree, but it still makes it a lie, or at the very least a con. The trade was implied in what I perceived as good faith, and he agreed to it. For most reasonable witches or wizards, that would be enough." She frowned. "Besides, he seems to enjoy lying."

 _Good faith_ almost made Narcissa laugh out loud. Had she had more time and a few more drinks, she would have given Hermione a quick lesson in etymology regarding the Malfoys. Instead, Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “When it confers an advantage, we all lie. The problem with Lucius is that he tells just enough truth to keep everyone guessing."

Hermione looked as if she was going to say something and then closed her mouth.

"What?" Narcissa asked. "You look as if you want to ask me something."

"Well, something he said..."

"What did he say?"

"He said many things...but one thing in particular stands out in my mind."

"What?" Narcissa sighed impatiently.

"He said he used the Cruciatus curse...during..."

Narcissa suppressed a smile. Their wedding night. She had not forgotten. How could she? "True," she said and watched the girl look at her in dismayed fascination.

"It was you..." Hermione said softly.

Narcissa wanted to set the record straight, but it was not the girl's business. That night, the curse still upon her, Narcissa found strength in her anger, strength enough to overthrow his spell. _How dare he?_ she remembered thinking. She took Lucius' wand, still in his hand, and using both her hands, pushed as hard as she could until it pointed back at him. No doubt he expected her to cower in fear but she was as powerful as he was, as determined as he was, as ruthless as he was, and knew she had to prove all this to him if he was going to test her this early in their marriage. Never in her life had she used the Cruciatus Curse, but she meant it with all her heart when she yelled _Crucio_ at him at the top of her voice. Her curse combined with his doubled its effect, left her body and rebounded directly on his, twice as strong. As he rode the curse out, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her screams of ecstasy mingling with his screams of agony. Lucius never tried anything like that again, especially after he discovered Narcissa had fractured two of his fingers in the process.

"You of all people then, how can you let him do these things?" Hermione asked, that incredulous wonder still in her voice

Narcissa looked at her. "We stand as one, no matter what. Despite some arguably appalling things that he does, he is allied to me, to Draco, and to our family. Maybe you'll understand when you have a family of your own one day."

They were silent for a moment, looking at each other.

Hermione broke the silence first. “Anyway, when I figured out that what he gave me was actually pig's blood, I confronted him with the pictures. I told him some of them had found their way to you as well. He took the news about as well as you can imagine, but he acquiesced in the end. We gave the blood to Professor Snape for safekeeping, and thought that was the end."

"It wasn't the end?"

"No. Your husband threatened to kill me after seeing the pictures. Professor Snape got him to relent by giving him back the silver dragon blood and the pictures we had given him."

"And?"

Hermione looked confused. "That's it."

 _She doesn't know,_ Narcissa suddenly realized. She changed her tack. "Where's Miss Weasley?" she asked.

"You said to come alone," she said.

"So I did. But I didn't expect you to actually do it. I was pretty well convinced you would drag your accomplice down here with you. Strength in numbers and all that."

Hermione looked down at her hands. "We had a fight," she mumbled.

Narcissa smiled. "Well then, you might be interested to know I've already met with Miss Weasley tonight. Just before this meeting, as it happens."

Hermione's head snapped up again. _"What?"_ she said, her voice high.

This was fun. "And you might further be interested to know, Miss Weasley has sent the pictures to the _Daily Prophet,_ so you may want to prepare yourself for an inordinate amount of humiliation as this morally repugnant private act of yours is about to become irretrievably public." Narcissa held up the envelope.

Hermione stared at her in horror. "No," she gasped. 

Narcissa felt her smile widen. "I was going to think of some sort of diabolical revenge on you for having sex with my husband and for using me, but now I don't think I really need to bother myself to do it. I imagine this will be punishment enough." She set the envelope down. "Do you have any idea to whom she might have sent them?"

Hermione shook her head miserably. "Why, Ginny, why?" she whispered, staring at a point just beyond Narcissa's right elbow.

"Tom Riddle's diary," Narcissa answered without preamble. "Your friend Miss Weasley has been playing you from the beginning." 

Hermione said nothing, just breathed rapidly in and out. 

"It was never about any silver dragon blood," Narcissa said. "At least, not for Miss Weasley. For her, it was always about taking her revenge on Lucius for slipping the diary into her cauldron all those years ago. It is quite unfortunate for you that you got caught up in her quest for self-destruction."

"What am I going to do?" Hermione asked, now looking at Narcissa so imploringly that Narcissa almost felt sorry for her. 

Narcissa leaned forward. "It is imperative that you find out who your friend's contact is at the _Daily Prophet_. You must do this for your sake and, if you have any loyalty for your friend--not that I would blame you if you didn't--for her as well. Lucius' punishment of her is going to be swift and deadly when he finds out and not even I will be able to hold him at bay, nor would I want to. As I said, we stand as one." She straightened her spine and looked down her nose at Hermione. "When Miss Weasley threatens one of us, she threatens all of us, and I can't let that happen. You have only one chance to save her, and that's to stop the photographs from going to print. I'm going to give you a head start of eight hours. Now go: you don't have a moment to lose."

With that, Hermione had left. 

Now that Hermione's eight hours were up Narcissa knew the time had come to involve Lucius, as the story was way too delicious for the _Prophet_ to ignore, despite what she might have said to Miss Weasley. And the story could not be printed; Narcissa herself would not bear it, as it would have a detrimental impact on Draco's future, to say nothing of the impact it would have on Lucius. 

She got up off the chaise and wrapped herself in a green velvet dressing gown with ermine trim. She then gathered the photographs, which were strewn around the floor. Almost as an afterthought, she pulled one photograph from the stack and left it face-down on her bureau. Then, she opened the massive door and walked into the hallway.

Her bare feet measured the cold marble, one step at a time from her salon to Lucius' office. The veins in the white marble moved slightly, in an ever-shifting pattern, and her feet caused ripples in the black and blue lines that reverberated when they hit the walls. Although there had been many, Narcissa reflected that this was the first affair about which she had ever confronted him. However, it was the nature of their class never to discuss it openly, and certainly to exercise the greatest discretion. Narcissa had convinced herself it was for Draco’s sake, but she knew that Draco had known for a while. Sometimes she wondered if it bothered him, or if it made him look up to his father even more.

She had to confront Lucius about this affair, however; there was no doubt in her mind about that. It dawned on her that she was not actually upset over the affair itself; as she had told Weasley, Lucius' heart, such as it was, had always belonged to her. She was much more upset over the blackmail, a reflection of the simple fact that for once, Lucius had been almost catastrophically careless. Narcissa stopped outside the door to his office and put her ear up to the door, listening. Lucius was definitely in there. Narcissa shouldered the door open violently and burst in. 

Lucius looked up at her sharply from where he sat behind his giant, polished mahogany desk. Narcissa walked around the desk and, without a word, dumped the contents of the envelope in front of him as she stood over him. She folded her arms as he turned them over and put them in a row. With disgust, Narcissa noticed a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he surveyed them. 

“Well, do you have anything to say?” 

"What would you like me to say?” he asked, smiling at her politely, infuriating her. 

Narcissa looked at the ceiling for a moment, sighed, and then looked back at him. "You could apologize, for a start. You probably should have told me that this had happened, rather than having me find out through vile blackmail photographs."

Lucius stood. “Believe me, your indignation is the least of my concerns regarding this,” he said, gesturing to the pictures. “Do you know who else knows?”

“ _I_ know.”

“Don’t play games with me, Narcissa. Miss Granger told me she had sent the pictures to you, so none of this comes as a surprise, at least, not to me. Now, I’m only going to ask you one more time. Who else knows?” He stood and faced her. He enunciated every syllable and Narcissa recognized that she had reached the limit of his patience.

Narcissa dropped the injured wife pretense and looked down at the desk. “The _Daily Prophet_. The Weasley brat has a contact there but she wouldn't tell me who it was." Lucius turned from her, gathered the photographs together, and slipped them back into the envelope. “How could you be so irresponsible?” Narcissa asked. Lucius didn’t answer her. “Do you want to ruin Draco’s future? Do you realize what will happen to _him_ when the story breaks?”

“The story won’t break,” Lucius said. He pushed by her and walked down the hall. "I'm fairly confident that it's Rita. Something like this would bring her to a shuddering climax, miserable chore of a woman. If it is Rita, I should be able to buy her off...one way or another." He suddenly stopped and turned towards her, his eyes narrowed. “What did you mean by 'they' wouldn’t tell you?” 

Narcissa smiled at him. “I summoned both of them to Hogsmeade last night and met with them individually. I wanted to hear it for myself, gather information that they would be more likely to give me than you, and I wasn’t sure if you would be completely honest with me. I can’t imagine why.”

“You spoke with them before you told me about this?” 

“Yes, Lucius," Narcissa sighed. "I tire of sitting idly by while you break whatever rules suit your fancy, and you know you can’t play the victim here, so don't act so injured. What was it you said? Your indignation is the least of my concerns.”

Lucius fumed. “Did you tell them I was going to kill them?”

“Of course I did. But you should know that the Weasley girl harbors a grudge for the part you played regarding Tom Riddle's diary."

Lucius gave an annoyed sigh. "That was years ago," he said dismissively. "And no one could ever prove that it was me who did it. Not even Dumbledore."

Narcissa folded her arms in front of her. "Well, she's still furious. She said the Dark Lord raped her mind--"

Lucius looked at her quickly, but said nothing.

"Yes, Lucius, 'rape' was the word she used, and that you made it happen. It was all rather maudlin and dramatic. In any event, the entire enterprise was her idea and my guess was that she always intended to ruin you by sharing the pictures. You just gave her a convenient excuse in giving Granger a sham product in trade. The point is, even the direst of threats will not keep at least her at bay. Granger on the other hand..." 

"What about Miss Granger?" Lucius asked, a note of interest in his voice that made Narcissa do a double take. 

She gave him a dark look. "Tell me you don't have a soft spot for that Muggle-born harlot."

Lucius smirked. "I don't have a _soft_ spot for her," he replied.

"You're nauseating." Narcissa knew he was just saying it to push her buttons, something he had always excelled at, so she continued. "Anyway, she claims that the two of them fought, and that she had no idea that Miss Weasley sent in the pictures, which is borne out by the fact that both of them came alone." Narcissa sighed. "I believe her, Lucius. In light of what you just said, I can't believe I'm even saying this, but Miss Granger...can either be ignored completely, or can be treated with more delicacy than Miss Weasley. She is no longer a key player. The most useful thing I can take back to you from the two meetings is that you shouldn't create any more work for yourself than necessary, especially with Azkaban such a terribly recent memory."

Lucius paused, reflecting on what she had said, and then turned from her once more and walked down the stairs.

Narcissa rushed after him. “And what’s going to happen when the Dark Lord finds out?”

“He needn’t.” 

“Please. Even you won’t be able to contain this by yourself.” Narcissa's bare feet slapped on the marble as she followed Lucius down the grand staircase. “Better you tell him than him finding out on his own.” She put her hand on his arm. “You were just let back into his good graces,” she said gently. "Besides, he might even be able to help." Lucius pulled away from her and put on his cloak. "Where are you going?"

Lucius looked at her for a moment. "I need to ascertain with absolute certainty that it _is_ Rita before I go after her. For that I need to extend Malfoy hospitality to one person."

"For hard questioning?"

"Well, your soft questioning was insufficient so yes, I'm afraid so." He smiled. "Relax, Narcissa; this is what I do. Have I ever let you down?" 

Narcissa rewarded him with a withering look. 

"Very well, perhaps I have. But you needn't worry this time. I have it completely under control." Lucius took out his wand and Disapparated, leaving Narcissa alone in the foyer.


	5. 15: Delivery; 16: Assassin; 17: Obliviation; 18: Interrogation; 19: Waylay; 20: Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The envelope arrives at the _Daily Prophet_. Ginny atones for her transgressions, but finds she is too late as Lucius makes his move. Hermione is told to stand down by Dumbledore, but discovers she is unable to obey when she finds out that Ginny is in more danger than anyone thought. Draco starts to question his own loyalty as he finds himself a pawn in a game much larger than himself. 
> 
> _"And I'm glad that you understand you_ are _alone," Draco said. His gray eyes rested on her gloatingly, and Ginny wished with all her might that she had listened to Hermione and had gone straight to the Owlery; how could she have been so stupid? Draco turned back towards Hogwarts. As if on cue, Crabbe and Goyle materialized from the end of the bridge and walked in unison towards the two of them. "Very alone." Draco was now less than a foot from her, her back against the wooden support, trapped._

CHAPTER 15: DELIVERY

The line outside of Florian Fortescue’s let Lee Jordan know that he was in for a long wait for his morning regular, a Lizard Latte. The clock on the tower above him struck eight o’clock and Lee cursed. He was already late, so the latte would have to wait, which was a real Bludger in the eye, as that particular concoction contained Focus Powder, which really helped him work. With one last look of regret at the inviting purple awning of Florian's and all those lucky sods relaxing underneath who were punctual enough to _deserve_ a Lizard Latte, Lee broke out of the line. He sprinted down the block, and then through the front door of the _Daily Prophet_ headquarters. 

Melanie, the pretty front office witch, smiled at him. “You’re late again, honey.”

“Don’t--I know it.” He smiled at her flirtatiously, but the effect was largely lost due to his labored breathing from the sprint. “Gives me--a chance--to get you alone.” He clutched at the sudden flank cramp. He needed to find a pick-up Quidditch league or something because Merlin, was he ever out of shape.

She smiled back at him and shook her finger. “Hurry up, Lee.” 

“Still my number one gal, Mel.”

Massaging his side and breathing deeply, he came to his tiny, cramped, and cluttered office and unlocked the door. His in-tray was overflowing, as usual, but a large golden envelope lay atop it. Curious, he shut his door and picked up the envelope. “Photographs; do not bend,” he read out loud. An anonymous lead, perhaps? He was the most junior person there; who would want to give him a handout?

Someone knocked on his door. “Meeting in two minutes, Lee,” Mel called through the door.

“Yeah…yeah, thanks,” he replied absently. Lee sat on the edge of his desk, undid the string, and opened the envelope with his thumb. He pulled the contents out and when he saw them, it took him a moment even to accept them as reality. He immediately flipped them over, looking for some clue as to their origin. Gobsmacked to the point of denial, Lee took another quick glance to verify the identities of the people he convinced himself couldn't possibly be the subjects. Yes, his eyes hadn't been lying; Lee hurriedly squeezed them shut and shook his head, but it was too late: the images were now permanently seared into his mind and he suddenly hated his anonymous benefactor with a fiery passion. 

Lee had no idea what to do. His first impulse was to take his empty aluminum rubbish bin, set the pictures inside and incinerate them with a simple spell. Make it as if it never happened. Yes, that was best. He took the bin off of the floor and cleared a spot on his desk, then set it down with a clatter. Lee dropped the envelope inside and took out his wand. And hesitated. _Wait a minute,_ he thought, _I'm a journalist. Why even bother coming to work in the morning if I'm just going to negate the biggest lead I've--hell, anyone, recently--has ever seen?_

Because it was Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Not just any influential, powerful, pureblood wizard, but a famously dangerous former ( _yeah, like anyone believes that_ ) Death Eater. And said infamous Dark Wizard was coupled with not just any Hogwarts student, but the Head Girl, brightest witch of her age, and best friend of the Boy Who Lived. Lee's ambivalence over the picture, so suddenly in his life, almost split his brain in half and more than ever, he wished he had been able to have his Lizard Latte. 

Lee quickly reviewed his options. First, he could burn the pictures, forget it ever happened, as he had originally planned. Pros: Lucius Malfoy wouldn't kill him. That was huge. Cons: he would cut himself shaving from now on because he wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror. Next, he could take them to his editor. Pros: it would take the matter out of his hands, meaning that he would likely be out of danger, and would certainly be exonerated of responsibility. Cons: it would take the matter out of his hands, meaning that he would get none of the credit should it go to press in any form. Third, he could sell them to Rita Skeeter. Pros: again, it would take the matter out of his hands and make him some quick cash. Cons: it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. In Lee's experience, dealing with Rita in any capacity made him feel like he needed a hot shower after, to cleanse himself of her special brand of slime. Also, if history was any indicator, Rita would probably not paint Hermione in the most favorable light, regardless of the circumstances surrounding the pictures, circumstances that Lee couldn't possibly fathom; that was the other problem, his complete lack of context for what he was seeing.

Lee chewed his lip in frustration. He didn't really like any of his options. 

"Lee, meeting! Do you need something to break your sleep enchantment?"

Mel's voice broke Lee out of his reverie. He could hear her coming down the hallway. Still undecided, Lee stuffed the pictures back into the envelope and shoved them into his messenger bag. He then hastily put his rubbish bin back on the floor. 

Mel opened the door, walked into his office and crossed her arms, leaning against the door jamb. "You're simply never on time, are you?" 

Lee remembered himself and grinned at her in what he hoped was a vaguely guilty and endearing way. 

Mel rolled her eyes at him and held out her hand, "Come on, little lost lamb. We'll go together." 

Lee sat through the meeting, not paying the slightest attention to what it was about, his mind running his options over and over, and coming up with new ones, each more outlandish than the last. _I could turn the pictures over to Lucius Malfoy himself? No way, then he'll think I took them, which means he'll also kill me..._ Lee made it through the day, working by the numbers, mostly copy editing other journalists' pieces, which was perfect, as he couldn't have written a single original word, even with a wand to his head. _Lucius Malfoy's wand, perhaps?_ his brain asked. _Because that's what'll happen if you run this story._ Mel shook his head, like a dog trying to rid its ears of water and pressed on, but as far as he was concerned, the day couldn't be over soon enough. 

By five o'clock, Lee's skull was pounding, partially from the horrible decision he was facing, and partially from caffeine withdrawal. The latter was not lost on the lovely Mel as Lee left for the day. "You just can't function properly without Focus Powder, can you?" she teased him as he passed by her desk, rubbing his head.

Lee forced a laugh that came out awkward and high-pitched, and Mel looked at him strangely. Giving up, Lee shouldered his messenger bag and walked past her without his usual parting sally. He had to get out of there. Who could help him? Normally, he would go to Fred and George, just down the block in the joke shop, but they would react as only a pair of twin gingers would, rashly and this was too big, far too big. No, he needed cool intellect and the prudence of experience, preferably vast experience, from someone he could trust. He also needed more information, plain and simple.

Lee cleared the hallway, managing not to make eye contact with anyone and pretending not to hear when anyone greeted him. The _Daily Prophet_ was annexed in with the rest of the Ministry of Magic, so all he had to do was make it to the Floo Network and then...then...he was at a loss.

"Chocolate frogs, sir?" A candy girl stopped Lee and he jumped about a foot in the air. 

"Uh...yeah," he replied. He took out a few Knuts and took the proffered sweet. 

He removed the foil. 

"Do you collect them?" The girl asked.

"What?" 

"The cards. Do you collect them?"

"Um...sure...I mean, I used to." Lee took the frog out with one hand and held it upside down, where it tried to hop pathetically, its smooth brown legs cycling in the air, Lee took the card out with the other. He smiled at the picture. "Of course it's Dumbledore. I have about a hundred--" Lee looked up, eyes wide. "That's it," he said to the candy girl. The frog finally righted itself, hopped out of his hand and made its way down the polished black tiles of the wall. Lee turned on his heel and sprinted to the hall of fireplaces that held the Floo Network. 

He took a handful of powder and dashed it to the floor. "Hogwarts," he said. In a flash of green light, the Ministry disappeared.

CHAPTER 16: ASSASSIN

When Ginny had gotten back from Hogsmeade, it was close to midnight. She was exhausted and numb from everything that had happened over the past 24 hours. She also knew she wasn't ready to face Hermione. Even though it was cowardly, she had climbed into bed and used Harry's Invisibility Cloak as a blanket. It was a good thing though, as several times during the night, she heard Hermione come into their dorm room looking for her, each time increasingly frantic. Ginny felt a guilty twist in her belly every time Hermione came to their door, but still couldn't find it in herself to take the cloak off. Besides, she didn't know what the urgency was about. They would talk eventually; Ginny just needed some time to gather herself.

In the morning, after a fitful night's sleep, Ginny waited until her roommates had left the dormitory for breakfast and only then did she remove the Invisibility Cloak, if for no other reason than giving it back to Harry. After all the boys had left, she went up to their dormitory and stowed the cloak under Harry's bed with a regretful sigh. She then went to the bathroom, ran cold water over her face and headed for the Great Hall. She waited for Hermione to leave and then went in, ate a hasty breakfast while tucked into a back corner of the Ravenclaw table. 

Ginny did attend her classes. The strange thing was that inasmuch as she was avoiding Hermione, she kept running into Draco Malfoy: between classes in the corridors, in the Great Hall at lunch, on the quad after school, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like bookends. Draco hadn't talked to Ginny, hadn't even looked her direction, but she felt his presence nonetheless, more than she might ordinarily. It was enough to make her feel paranoid, but then her mind reminded her that she was likely noticing him more because of her conversation with his mother the previous night. 

After her last class of the day, Ginny lingered in the hallway outside of the Gryffindor common room as long as she dared. _You can't avoid her forever,_ she thought. If nothing else, she needed to come clean to Hermione about the pictures and to the extent that it was possible, help her prepare for the coming storm. _And apologize,_ she thought, grudgingly. She wasn't sure if she still had time to call Lee off, or if it was even the right thing to do. By now, Mrs. Malfoy would have told her husband what was going on, so if he was going to retaliate, he would do it regardless. Ginny would just have to pray that Lee was faster. 

Steeling herself, Ginny went through the portrait hole. She saw Ron and Harry, sitting next to each other on the couch, playing Exploding Snap. "Have you seen Hermione?" Ginny asked. Without breaking, they pointed simultaneously up the stairs to the top of the tower. Swallowing, Ginny went up. It was the longest climb of her life and it took her three tries to knock on the door.

Hermione opened the door and stared at her in shock. "Where have you been?" she asked. She took Ginny by the arm and pulled her into her room, slamming the door. "Who did you send the pictures to, Ginny?"

"Wait, how did you know--?"

Hermione waved her hand impatiently. "Narcissa Malfoy--Hog's Head--last night--after you--Tom Riddle's diary," she summed up in a giant rush. 

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ginny said, staring at the floor. "I started having nightmares about Tom again and I thought, if I were just to take down Malfoy, everything would be all right. I wasn't thinking about anything else and I was--" She could feel her lip trembling. "I was a terrible friend. Terrible. I rationalized everything and said and did some horrible things." Tears slipped down her face. "I'm no better than _him,_ not really." 

Hermione looked away, but didn't deny it. 

Ginny dashed her tears away with the sleeve of her robe. "If he gets me now, it's no more than I deserve."

Hermione looked back at her, eyes wide. "Don't say that, Ginny. We'll call off your contact. We can still undo this. Right?"

Ginny sniffed and nodded. "I don't want to tell you who it is. If you know, it's something that Malfoy can get out of you. I don't want to hurt you any more."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, and then nodded as well. She held her arms open and Ginny went to her. For the first time since the trade, Ginny felt good, right. It was as if Hermione's forgiveness was loosening the hot ball of hatred that had lodged itself in Ginny's stomach. Ginny didn't deserve it and she knew it, but that didn't mean that she didn't need it. After a moment, Hermione let her go. "You need to go send that owl right now. Do you want me to go with you?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, I've already caused you enough trouble."

Hermione looked concerned. "Are you sure? Now is not the best time for you to be alone, you know."

Ginny gave her a tentative smile. "I'll be quick, Hermione, and careful. I'll go to the Owlery and then I'll come straight back here. Really."

Hermione did not look reassured. "All right," she finally said.

Ginny gave her one more smile and then left her room. She went back through the common room, and then the portrait hole, but she did not go to the Owlery first. She needed some air and some space, needed to feel open and free and clean. There was only one place in Hogwarts to truly do that: the covered bridge. She walked through the corridors and across the quad, and then down the short slope to the cliff that the bridge spanned. She knew that it was risky to come out here, but she felt better with every step and it wouldn't take long. 

Ginny crossed to the middle of the bridge. To her relief, no one was around. It could be one of the most peaceful places in Hogwarts when empty of students. Ginny closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of grass, pine needles, and earth, still damp from the previous night's rainstorm. She felt lighter than she had over the past few days, and especially since apologizing to Hermione. Keeping her eyes closed, she breathed in and out, letting the washed ground smell fill her nose, her lungs, and her mind. Maybe everything really _would_ be all right. Ginny leaned her head against one of the wooden supports. She would go to the Owlery tower right after, find the swiftest owl  
there and--

"Quiet up here, isn't it, Weasley?" a voice said.

Ginny's eyes flew open in surprise and she whirled around. "Draco," she said coldly. "What are you doing here?" 

Draco stood several feet from her, on the side of the bridge between her and Hogwarts. He must have doffed his robe prior to coming out and he had rolled up his sleeves in the warm May afternoon. He held his hands in his pockets, his demeanor casual. He looked at the wooden boards under his feet and kicked them lightly, his blond hair falling over his forehead. "Oh..." he said, "just enjoying the silence, the same as you, I would expect." Draco looked back up at her. "That's not a problem, is it?" He gave her a polite, almost humble smile. 

Ginny glanced at him warily. "No..." she started. "I just thought I was going to be alone, is all. You understand."

Draco's smile changed, becoming colder, and he nodded. "I _do_ understand." He moved closer to her. He was taller than her by a good seven inches, a height difference Ginny had never noticed on the Quidditch pitch, but now seemed glaringly obvious with him standing so close, too close. Ginny's heart sped up. Even though everything about him suggested post-school-day relaxation, the untucked shirt and the loosened Slytherin tie also served to prepare him for action and Ginny swallowed in sudden fear. She hadn't dreamed that Lucius Malfoy would move this fast and there was no doubt in her mind that this was exactly what was happening. 

"And I'm glad that you understand you _are_ alone," Draco said. His gray eyes rested on her gloatingly, and Ginny wished with all her might that she had listened to Hermione and had gone straight to the Owlery; how could she have been so stupid? Draco turned back towards Hogwarts. As if on cue, Crabbe and Goyle materialized from the end of the bridge and walked in unison towards the two of them. "Very alone." Draco was now less than a foot from her, her back against the wooden support, trapped. 

Ginny knew she only had one shot. Before Crabbe and Goyle could join them, Ginny drew her wand as fast as she possibly could. Draco clearly had been expecting this and as soon as she did, with the reflexes of the experienced Seeker that he was, he grabbed the wrist of her wand hand and rammed it viciously into the wood rail behind her. Ginny cried out as her entire hand went numb and her wand went skittering down the wooden planks that made the bridge's floor. "No, Weasley," Draco admonished her. "We won't have any Bat Bogey hexing out of you today." 

By then, Crabbe and Goyle had caught up with Draco. "Hold her," he commanded them. Crabbe took her left arm and Goyle her right, pinning them uncomfortably behind her as she struggled pointlessly. With unhurried nonchalance, Draco turned and walked down the bridge a few feet. He crouched down and picked up Ginny's wand where it had fallen. Half smiling, he walked back to her, running his fingers up and down the polished yew.

"You shouldn't play with that, Draco, you'll go blind," Ginny said through clenched teeth. 

Draco came back over to her, smirking. "You always have something clever to say, don't you?" he asked. He pointed the wand at her and moved closer, until the tip was right underneath her chin. He held it there a moment, before his smirk faded into a look of vexed disappointment. "I'd cast something on you, but my father said I was to physically assault you, not magically assault you, so..." He dropped the wand and took a step back. He then drew his arm back, and threw her wand as far as he could off the bridge. 

Ginny watched in dismay as it flipped end over end and disappeared down the cliffs. _Well, he didn't break it,_ she thought. _We can always_ Accio _it later._ It was a small comfort, but it was all she had. Draco came back over to her, once again standing far too close. Ginny's shoulders were starting to ache from where Draco's henchmen held her, but it wasn't as if she could do anything about it. "And for your rudeness..." He sucker-punched her in the abdomen, knocking the wind out of her. 

She would have doubled over had, once again, Crabbe and Goyle not been holding onto her. She took a moment to breathe as best she could. "Did he tell you why?" Ginny asked, each word coming out with a slight moan as it hurt her belly to talk. 

"He doesn't need to," Draco said, cracking his knuckles one at a time. "He knows I'm loyal, and it's not as if I need an excuse to beat you up." He shrugged. "I can't stand you. I can't stand your brothers. I can't stand your family, blood traitors all..."

"Or maybe he doesn't hold you in very high regard," Ginny said. "Be honest with yourself, Draco, that's really the more likely reason that you have no clue why he asked you to do this. Blood traitor or no, at least _my_ father respects me." Her words had the exact impact she hoped they would. Draco's face contorted with fury. Without another word, he cocked back his arm, twisted his athletic body to generate a maximum of force, and launched for her. Ginny could see it coming and for one mad moment, smiled. _If it's coming, I want to earn it, I want to cost Draco his control, I want to have power over him, even if it's only for a second..._ were the last thoughts she had before Draco's fist slammed her head into the wood support and her world went dark. 

CHAPTER 17: OBLIVIATION

Hermione sat in the Great Hall, making herself eat dinner, even though she wasn't hungry. Making up with Ginny had made her feel loads better, but she was still worried, as they were far from out of the woods. A bench scraped loudly and Hermione jumped. She turned around to see where the noise had come from. It was the Slytherin table, which held Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson among others, but strangely, not Draco, Crabbe, or Goyle. Pansy Parkinson caught her looking, cut her eyes at her, and twirled her finger slowly in the air. Bemused, Hermione turned back around.

Just then, a note folded into the shape of a swallow came sailing in and landed on her plate. Hermione took it and unfolded it. It was a pre-printed form note with blanks for names and multiple options for multiple situations:

_Dear Hermione Granger,_

_Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in  his/her office in 1 hour/30 minutes/15 minutes/immediately._

Hermione crumpled the note up, gathered her bag, and headed out of the Great Hall with a sense of foreboding. She rode the staircase up to Dumbledore's office, where she heard raised voices, Dumbledore's calm, Professor Gonagall's high-pitched and urgent, and Professor Snape's lower and more measured, but no less agitated. Hermione's heart sank. This combination could only mean one thing: the story had printed in the _Evening Prophet_ and her notoriety was about to begin. When she reached the threshold, the two professors rounded on her and started talking at once. 

"Miss Granger, I demand an explanation at once--" McGonagal insisted.

"You lied to me, you and Miss Weasley both, twice." Snape glared at her.

"Silence," Dumbledore said, his voice cutting above the two professors. He moved to the side and Hermione got a glimpse of the fourth person in the room. 

"Lee," Hermione said, suprised.

Lee Jordan could not meet her eyes, for perhaps the first time in his life lost for words. He stared at the floor and Hermione saw a golden envelope clutched in his hand. Relief flooded through her and she almost ran and hugged him. 

"Well," said Professor McGonagal, "at least he had the sense to come here first rather than printing the story, which was, no doubt, your intention."

Hermione looked at her. "Not mine, Professor. Trust me, I'm as relieved as you are."

Now Snape spoke up. "I think you'll find Miss Weasley is the true culprit here, Minerva." 

"Minerva, can you please find Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore asked McGonagall. "I would speak with her as well."

McGonagall glanced at Hermione, her lips pursed in silent reproach, and, gathering her robes, she hurried from Dumbledore's office.

"And you, Severus, if you could please place eyes on Draco Malfoy. You don't need to interrogate him, not yet, as I'm not sure how much he knows."

Snape nodded once and walked out of the office, leaving just three of them.

Dumbledore broke the silence. "Miss Granger, I must admit, after hearing Professor Snape tell the story, I am at a loss." 

"We were only trying to help," Hermione said, relieved also that she didn't have to relay the entire story to yet another person. 

"You have no idea what you've done," Dumbledore said quietly.

Hermione looked at him, surpised. It was one thing to have Snape and Mrs. Malfoy warn her of the dangers of crossing Lucius, but another entirely to hear it coming from Dumbledore, who seemed to fear no one. Unless he meant compromising the Order. Yes, that was the more likely of the possibilities. "I'm sorry," Hermione said to him, figuring it was probably the safest place to start.

Dumbledore softened. "I understand you were trying to help, Miss Granger, and I know that your intentions were good." He crossed to Lee and held out his hand. Lee still hadn't said anything, but handed the pictures over to Dumbledore as if they were burning him. "Thank you, Lee," Dumbledore said. Lee nodded, already looking somewhat happier.

"Yes, thank you, Lee," Hermione echoed. "I'm sorry you got caught up in all of this."

Now he looked at her. "Me too, Hermione."

Dumbledore sighed. "Then there's just one thing left to do, but I won't do it without your permission, Lee."

Lee sighed as well. "It's OK," he said. "I'm fine with it. Prefer it, actually."

Dumbledore nodded. He and Lee walked towards the door. Dumbledore took out his wand and pointed it at Lee. _"Obliviate."_

Before Lee could recover, Dumbledore took him firmly by the arm and walked him over to the stairs. "So next week then, Lee, I will tell you why I decided never to travel to Slovenia." 

Lee nodded. "Right," he said, dazed. "Slovenia. Until next week, Headmaster." 

Once Lee had left, Dumbledore turned back to Hermione. "There's more, Professor," Hermione said. "Narcissa Malfoy knows that Ginny sent in the pictures. She gave me an eight-hour window to head Ginny off at the pass, but that expired at eight this morning and at that time, I couldn't find her. The point is, Lucius Malfoy has known since the beginning of the day, and now it's the end." She looked into Dumbledore's calm blue eyes. "He'll kill her, Professor. Now that he knows, it won't be long before he takes his revenge."

"He'll do nothing of the kind, Miss Granger. I will send him an owl immediately, asking him to come here to Hogwarts, where the four of us will come to some sort of resolution before more damage can be done, to any party."

Hermione shook her head. She had long known that Dumbledore thought too much of people and now that unshakeable faith, this time in Lucius Malfoy of all people, could prove deadly. "I fear you may be too late, Professor. He'll move quickly and for my part, I haven't seen Ginny for an hour. She was supposed to just go to the Owlery and send a note calling Lee off, but she never came back. I think Lucius has already made his move and I know his objective is to destroy Ginny." Strangely, she didn't think twice about using only his first name. She supposed it answered her initial question about that very issue.

Dumbledore smiled grimly. "Miss Granger, I can say unequivocally that Lucius Malfoy will not--"

Professor McGonagal suddenly opened the door, out of breath. "Professor Dumbledore, you must come with me now, to the bridge. I have found Ginny Weasley."

Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "I must ask you to do nothing," he said, his voice calm, but firm. "This situation has already risked far too much. It is critically important that you not interfere further, Miss Granger. Do you understand?"

Hermione hesitated a moment, and then finally nodded.

"Professor, there's not a moment to waste," McGonagall said, a note of urgency in her voice.

Dumbledore made to follow her, before turning to Hermione. "Go to Gryffindor tower and stay there, Miss Granger." With that, he and McGonagall left. Hermione followed slowly, more fretful than ever. She would go to Gryffindor tower; as much as she wanted to know what was going on with Ginny, she understood Dumbledore's concern over her safety. If Ginny was in trouble, Hermione too was at risk, particularly with Draco's whereabouts unknown. If Lucius was going to strike that day, working through Draco was certainly his most favorable option. Thus, Gryffindor tower was the safest place for her to be, at least temporarily. Also, if nothing else, she needed a place to regroup and figure out what to do. 

The hallways were almost eerily as Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor tower. Hermione assumed that everyone who normally would be populating the halls was down wherever the commotion was. She went through the portrait hole to find just a few first and second years milling about. Upon seeing her, one of them vacated the best armchair. She nodded graciously and settled down with a book to wait.

An hour passed. A few students came back up and Hermione started to hear what had happened. "She tried to jump," one Third Year girl said. "That's what I heard." 

"You heard wrong," another girl, a Fourth Year, argued scornfully. "She got beaten up."

Hermione set her book down and looked at her. "By whom?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"Draco Malfoy," the Fourth Year replied with great theatricality. Hermione froze. It had begun. It wasn't an ordinary beating, it was a deliberate hit, of that Hermione was completely convinced.

"Where is he now?" Hermione asked, attempting to sound casual. 

The Fourth Year looked at her curiously. "Locked in Snape's office, serves him right, in my opinion," she answered, sniffing. That was good news at least. Presumably, Ginny was in the hospital wing for the nonce, and with Draco locked up, at least no more harm could befall her. With any luck, that was the extent of Lucius' revenge.

Another hour passed. And another. _Where are Ron and Harry?_ Hermione thought, setting the book down. After an additional half an hour, they both appeared, Harry looking rattled, Ron scared and furious. "What happened to you two?" Hermione demanded.

"I've been in the hospital wing with Ginny, what did you think?" Ron spat. 

"And?" Hermione looked from Ron to Harry and back again.

Now it was Harry who spoke, calmer than Ron, but sounding almost numb. "Madame Pomfrey can't heal her, neither can Dumbledore."

"What?" Hermione's heart felt like it had dropped to her stomach. 

"Madame Pomfrey believes she is bleeding on the inside, and needs specialist healing. They're going to move her to St. Mungo's. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will meet them there."

 _They can't!_ Hermione stopped herself from saying it out loud, just in time. Ginny couldn't leave the protection of Hogwarts, she just couldn't. This, then, was Lucius' plan: get her out of Hogwarts to a place where she would be far less safe and then make his true strike. As reprehensible as it was, setting Draco on Ginny was only a vehicle. A shiver of fear climbed Hermione's spine as she realized what they were truly up against in Lucius' devious mind and utter lack of scruples.

Ron just stared into the distance, chest moving rapidly up and down. "I'm going to kill him," he said quietly. "I'm going to kill Malfoy for this."

Without a word, Hermione got up off the couch and went out the portrait hole. Now, despite what Dumbledore said, she at least had to, _had_ to, find out what was going on and for that, she needed to locate Draco Malfoy.

CHAPTER 18: INTERROGATION

Draco sat in an ugly plaid couch in Snape’s office and picked at a hole in the upholstery as he waited to hear his fate. The couch must have been Muggle-made; any self-respecting witch or wizard would have demolished it rather than keep it, but Draco supposed that it must have belonged to someone important to Snape, who was half-blood. Before Draco’s ugly plaid imprisonment, Snape told him that Dumbledore wished to speak with him.

"I don't see what the fuss is about," Draco had said sniffily. "After all, I was provoked."

Snape smirked. “No doubt you were. The Weasleys have always been a fractious bunch.” Snape then turned serious and sighed. “No, they think that there’s Dark Wizardry involved.”

“But Professor, why would they think that?” Draco asked nervously.

“Because she can't be healed.”

Draco swallowed; it was not something he had anticipated.

"Your father's on his way," Snape said before leaving and closing the door behind him. Draco heard the inevitable sound of the door locking, trapping him. Not that escape was an option, even with the door open.

Draco had been as flippant with Snape as he had always been, but his stomach dropped upon hearing that Ginny Weasley couldn’t be healed. He was under the impression that beating her up had been a simple act of retribution, perhaps for something her wretched father had done at the Ministry. And his father's note had said nothing about wounds that would not heal. In fact, the note had been sparse of much information other than orders; typical of his father, and with his father’s usual terseness:

_Draco,_

_You’ve asked to become more involved, so here’s your chance. Before the end of this day, physically assault Ginny Weasley to the point of incapacity, and implant the enclosed upon her. Three requirements: 1.) Do not hit her in the face; 2.) Leave out Vincent Crabbe & Gregory Goyle: this is your responsibility alone. 3.) Do whatever it takes not to get caught. _

_Don’t let me down._

_–L_

_P.S. Drop this on the floor right now._

Draco had done so and the note had burst into flame, burned for about two seconds, and been rendered to ash. There had been no explanation, but as he had told Ginny, Draco didn’t need one; being able to prove himself to his father was plenty. However, it was strange and more than a little suspect that Ginny had seemed to know and to be totally unsurprised that it had been his father's idea to beat her up. Draco frowned, but after a moment's reflection, couldn't make heads or tails out of it. 

Unfortunately, when all was said and done, he had broken all three of his father’s requirements. First, he needed Crabbe and Goyle. He had never been in a fight without the two of them to help, and he did not plan on starting now, when it was so very important that he carry the orders out successfully. Second, Ginny's crack about his father not respecting him had made him see red and he hadn't been able to stop himself from punching her in the face. Besides, hadn't it been his father who had said that if one hits one’s opponent in the face, one can not only end the fight, but win it as well? And third, he botched the memory charm that would have prevented Ginny from ratting him out. That last was the one he was most upset about, and the reason Draco was in his current situation.

He shifted in the monument to bad taste and sighed. His father would be proud anyway, Draco was sure of it. Draco had hurt Ginny pretty badly, from the way she had looked when he had left her. Surely his father would have to give him credit for trying. Draco examined his knuckles, which were bruised, and one had even split into an ugly red seam. Draco smiled in the semidarkness of the office at his red badge of courage. 

Snape had three self-stirring cauldrons on a shelf above his desk, which made the only sound in the room. One was a small silver one that made a gentle _tink, tink, tink_ noise; one was brass that made a slight squeak with each undulation, and the last was a larger cast iron one that emitted a low, syncopated series of deep clunks. None was synchronized with any other, but every few minutes or so, all three would be in time, and the rhythm would become consistent for a moment. Draco, bored, began to count how many times their sounds matched up. 

He had gotten all the way up to 37, changing positions on the couch every third synchronization, first sitting, then lying on his back, then on his side, then sitting again. He was lying upside down, his feet over the back of the couch and his head down towards the carpet, watching the cauldrons while all the blood rushed to his head, making his face warm, when he heard a key in the door. Draco’s father walked in, flanked by Snape and Dumbledore. Lucius took one disgusted look at Draco. “Stand up, Draco," he ordered. Draco did as he was bid, the first hints of doubt starting to errode his confidence. He put his head down temporarily to get rid of the horrible head rush that had just assaulted him, following his 180-degree position shift.

"Look at me," Lucius commanded. Draco snapped his head up. Lucius looked back at Draco with eyes filled with disapproval. “Professors, I’d like a word with Draco,” he said. “Alone, if you please.”

“Very well, Lucius,” Dumbledore said patiently. He and Snape backed out of the room once more and shut the door. In the silence that descended after they left, slowly, Draco could make out the soft noises of the self-stirring cauldrons. He stared at a mysterious stain in the carpet and was starting to wonder what it could be when Lucius finally broke the silence.

“I said, look at me, Draco.” 

Draco looked up. 

“I ask so little of you, you know.” Lucius said the words calmly, but the ire behind them was clear.

“I know father, and I tried, I really—“

“My request was simple, as were my requirements.”

“But father, I delivered—“

“I don’t feel the need to justify the reasons for those requirements, and you should not feel the need to understand them just yet. Your actions have caused more trouble than if you had done nothing, and this bungling of yours is precisely the reason why I don’t include you in anything remotely important.”

“But, father, I—“

“And apparently, you also don’t know when to keep silent.”

Draco sighed and hung his head once more. “I botched the Obliviate spell,” he muttered. He saw no point in avoiding the inevitable. 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Your grasp of the obvious is breathtaking. Had you succeeded, I wouldn't be standing here, would I?”

Draco looked up once more and surmised that he felt exactly the same as his father’s enemies did before his father cursed them or killed them. "I’m sorry, father.” Draco then squeezed his eyes shut and flinched preemptively. He knew from experience that a fierce backhand was the next order of business, and there was nothing to do but wait for it. It's not as if his father raised a hand against him frequently, but it did happen occasionally, particularly when Draco had done something particularly egregious, which this certainly was. _Understand that I do this because I love you,_ his father would say, _I never inflict pain without reason._ But this time, the hit never came. Slowly, tentatively, Draco opened his eyes and let his shoulders and his jaw unclench. 

His father looked at him with an expression of disappointment so acute and painful that Draco would rather have had his father hit him. 

“I’ve taught you nothing,” Lucius said quietly. “You have no strengths, no talents, and no uses, despite my best efforts.”

“Behind bars,” Draco said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He regretted the words the instant he said them, because his father’s look of wrath returned rapidly. Lucius closed the distance between them and grabbed Draco by the ear.

“You resent that, do you?” Lucius hissed.

Draco grimaced. “No, sir,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Because I’d hate to think that my stint in Azkaban damaged you in some way.”

“No, sir,” Draco repeated.

“You are technically a full-grown wizard,” Lucius said with disdain, “and yet what I see in front of me is a spoiled, self-indulgent whelp that can’t carry out the simplest instructions.” He let go of Draco, who staggered sideways, massaging his ear. “And do you know what that means?” Lucius didn’t wait for an answer. “It means that I can’t trust you, that I can’t rely on my own son.” Lucius looked past Draco, as if the sight of him were abhorrent. “Your problem is that you’ve never faced adversity. You’ve been spoiled for your entire life, mostly by your mother. You may resent that I went to Azkaban, but it has made me stronger than either you or my enemies can imagine.”

He looked back at Draco once more. In the distance, Draco heard the school chimes sound 12 times. “And it’s with that in mind that I’ll decide your punishment. The brothers Weasley will no doubt seek retribution for their sister’s beating.” Lucius said this last with the utmost detachment. “When they do, I’ll not lift a finger to help you, nor will I stand up for you. It’s high time you stopped hiding behind me, our family name, and especially Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. In any case, the Weasleys shall punish you for me. So you see, Draco, even my enemies serve me in the end.” 

With that, Lucius turned swiftly and strode to the door. He opened it and rejoined Dumbledore, Snape, and now Professor McGonagall as well in the hallway. Draco slowly shuffled after him. 

"I have just heard that Ginny Weasley is now missing from St. Mungo's hospital," Dumbledore said as they came out into the hallway. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Lucius?" 

"Now, why in Merlin's name would I know something like that?" Lucius asked. 

Dumbledore sighed. "Historically, your family has not gotten on well with theirs, Lucius."

"Are you suggesting that _I_ had something to do with her assault and disappearance?" Lucius asked, ice in his voice.

"I'm merely attempting to keep my students safe," Dumbledore replied placidly. "Any involvement on your part would be ill-advised, such as setting Draco to beating up Ginny Weasley, say, to strike a blow against her father." 

"I would be insulted by your suspicion of me and my family, Dumbledore, if it were a novel occurence, but I'm afraid it's become so commonplace that I simply can't muster the appropriately indignant response." Lucius turned to Draco “Well, Draco?” Lucius tone carried a nuance of threat that Draco recognized clearly. This was going to be another test, one he dared not fail. “Did I put you up to beating the Weasley girl?”

Draco glanced at him quickly. "No," he answered. "I did it myself, for a laugh."

“But, Headmaster, what of the fact that Ginny Weasley can’t be healed? And that she's disappeared?” McGonagall asked.

"Are you sure that you had nothing to do with this?" Dumbledore asked Lucius.

“Clearly, I’ve done nothing,” Lucius replied, “I’ve been at Hogwarts for the better part of an hour.” Draco caught the hint of a smirk on his father’s face. 

“He does have an alibi, Headmaster,” Snape said. “He hasn’t left our sight.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. Draco looked at him, waiting. 

Dumbledore finally opened his eyes once more and looked at Draco. “Draco, I’m expelling you from Hogwarts for your brutal assault on Ginny Weasley.”

“What?” Lucius hissed. “You can’t expel _my_ son.”

Dumbledore looked at him coolly. “I'm afraid that I have no choice unless someone else is willing to take responsibility for the crime.” 

_Merlin, what doesn't he know?_ Draco thought. He glanced at his father who glared at Dumbledore with distrust and hatred. They stared each other down for a pregnant moment before Lucius finally looked away, and over at Draco. “You heard the Headmaster, Draco,” he said.

Although Draco had not foreseen any other conclusion, his father’s betrayal felt like a kick in the stomach. Draco’s eyes smarted despite himself and he had to look away. He’d have to leave Hogwarts because he obeyed his father. 

Dumbledore spoke softly. “Go to the Slytherin dungeon. Pack any belongings that you have and I'll see that they make it back to Malfoy Manor. Say your farewells and then return to the entrance hall when you're finished." Dumbledore now turned to McGonagall “Go at all speed to St. Mungo’s and see what you can divine about Ginny’s whereabouts, Minerva. Don’t let anyone touch anything. I’ll join you there when I finish at the school.”

CHAPTER 19: WAYLAY

Draco walked slowly in the direction of the Slytherin common room. Everything felt surreal; just this morning he had been sitting in class without a care in the world, and now he was expelled from Hogwarts, just like that. He stared at his feet as he walked, measuring each step over the ancient stone, worn smooth by countless thousands of wizard feet. Now his would no longer be among them. 

As Draco's feet wandered, so did his mind. In a detached sort of a way, he supposed that he needn't worry about his future. Being a Malfoy, it wasn't as if he had to graduate, much less work for a living. Still, he had spent seven years with this castle and these people, and had hoped to finish his school career with his head held high, not leaving in disgrace after having failed his father yet again. 

For the first time, Draco wondered if anyone here would actually miss him. He had Crabbe and Goyle, but if he was honest with himself, they were practically his employees. They afforded him muscle and protection, and he paid them in reputation and street cred by association, but they weren't close. They would get over his loss as soon as he Apparated out, and find a new master. And Pansy? She was a friend-with-benefits without the actual friendship: a huge fan of Draco's cock and his money, but little else about him. Blaise was just a stuck-up prick. Draco sighed.

He passed in front of an empty classroom, his mind so preoccupied, he didn't even notice that one of the shadows had moved, until he heard the spell. _"Incarcerous."_ Draco tripped as the ropes bound his legs, and he only just used his hands to catch his fall before the other ropes bound his wrists. Before he had a chance to cry out, someone had picked up his feet and dragged him roughly into the classroom. His attacker kicked the door shut. _"Lumos,"_ came another incant.

"Granger," Draco said as the caster's face became illuminated. 

"What did you do to Ginny?" Hermione asked, her voice low.

"I don't know," Draco answered. Hermione lowered her wand so it was two inches from his nose. "I mean...I beat her up, but after that, like why they can't heal her...I-I don't know."

"You don't know?" Hermione said. "What _I_ don't know is which curse I should use on you to make you talk." She smiled coldly. "I know so very many. And you without a wand..."

Draco's heart sped up. He knew his father would be ashamed of him for being scared of a Mudblood like her, but the look in her eyes showed only steely resolve and Draco had no doubt she would make good on anything she threatened him with. And he was completely immobilized and thus, as Hermione had said, wandless. For a split second, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he realized that her look mirrored his father's look from just moments before. Draco started speaking rapidly. "She never made it to the hospital, Granger, but I didn't do it. I don't know anything about that. I last saw her on the bridge, I swear. What I do know is that I don't have much time."

"I think you have all the time in the--"

"No, listen to me," Draco hissed. "Because of what happened to Weasley, I'm being expelled. They think I'm a Dark Wizard."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Are you?"

"I don't think so," Draco mumbled. "Anyway, they think I'm going to get my things and leave, so they'll be expecting me back any second." Perhaps it was guilt over nearly killing Ginny, perhaps it was simple self-preservation, or perhaps it was due to his father's betrayal, but Draco found himself wanting to help her. 

Hermione paused for a moment, searching his face for...something, some hint. "You really know nothing?" she finally asked.

"About what?" Draco said.

Hermione looked conflicted, before she seemed to make a decision. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "Let's back up. Why did you beat up Ginny?" She opened her eyes once more.

"Because my father told me to." His answers came easily once he resolved to tell her the truth.

"Yes, I know all that, but do _you_ know why?"

Once again, there was the total lack of surprise in his father's involvement. Draco shook his head rapidly, his eyes fixed on her illuminated wand tip. 

"Very well. What, exactly, did your father tell you to do?"

"Beat up Ginny and place an item on her person."

"What item?"

Draco hesitated for a moment. Showing her would be crossing a line, but in his current position, he really didn't have a choice. "Back pocket," he answered, rolling up on his side. "This one was a back-up if something happened to the first one." Hermione reached over him and into his pocket. Once she drew the item out and held it up in front of her, she gasped. 

"What? What is it?"

Hermione glared at him. "You put it on her without even knowing what it does?" she asked. "Never mind. It's a Dementor's Diamond. It's a powerful but short-acting anti-magic item. Your father is clever, I will give him that." She held it up to the light. It was about the size of a pea, dark, blood-red. Her eyes flicked to Draco's. "Don't tell him I said that," she said. 

"Why would I--"

"He must have lifted it from Azkaban," Hermione cut him off. "They wear them in ankle cuffs if they have to be transported on or off the island, or if they have to go to a place that's not under the powerful anti-magic wards that permeate the walls. If you activate it, and put it on someone, not only does it take away their ability to cast, but it makes it so no one can affect them magically either. It only lasts about eight hours, but that's enough." She pointed her wand at it. _"Tergeo,"_ she said. The dark red seemed to flow from the Dementor's Diamond directly into Hermione's wand.

"Why did you do that?" Draco asked.

Hermione half-smiled. "It's activated by blood. It's anti-magical, but with a built-in exception. If you wear it, you can't have magic cast on you except by the person whose blood lies within. Therefore, when your father activated it with his blood, he ensured that no magic spells, that is healing spells, would work on Ginny except those cast either by himself..." she looked into Draco's eyes. "Or by you." 

Draco swallowed, his throat dry. "Me?"

"Malfoy blood runs through your veins, same as his. With your family's known obsession with blood purity, I'm a little disappointed you didn't catch that sooner. The crowning irony is that you had the power to heal her this entire time, but you wouldn't have anyway, so I suppose it doesn't matter. The point is, your father did it to force Ginny to be moved from Hogwarts, where she was protected, to St. Mungo's where she is not. Predictably, she went missing en route." 

Draco's head swam. He wondered, above all, why. Why was his father bothering with all of this and risking Draco's future, for one girl?

Hermione un-pinned her Head Girl badge from her robe. She held the sharp end up to her finger and pressed swiftly down. A crimson dot of blood emerged and Hermione pressed the end of the Dementor's Diamond to it. The item drank it in, gradually turning it back to its original color. "But the truth is," Hermione continued, "she's not actually missing at all. I know exactly where she is, or have a strong enough suspicion to need your help." She turned her attention back to Draco. "Now hold still; this won't hurt a bit." She lifted up his shirt, exposing his left flank. 

He flinched away from her. "What do you think you're doing?" he said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Hermione sighed with irritation. "I'm going to put this on you, so only I can cast on you. I'm going to make this as quick as possible, but you need to believe that what I'm telling you is the truth, and you can't ask me any questions about it. You also need to trust that I'm doing this because, despite the fact that you seriously injured and may have killed my friend, and I don't like you and you don't like me, I don't want you harmed in any way. That said, you also need to believe that I have your best interests at heart. For what I have in mind, it's vital that no one can cast on you but me."

Draco paused for a moment. "That's a lot, Granger." Draco realized then that what Hermione had failed to mention was that she was also going to take away his ability to cast. Draco wasn't at all sure if that omission was deliberate or not. Neither option assured him.

Hermione sighed. "I know it is, Draco, but if you don't help me, Ginny could die and if she does, you're going to take the fall for something in which your involvement was the merest tip of the iceberg." She cocked her head to the side. "Don't you understand, Draco? You're not just going to be expelled; you're going to go to Azkaban because you're of age, and you were the last one to touch her. And now she's disappeared. Think about it. I'm doing this to save you as well as her."

"She's not going to die," Draco said, but he didn't even sound convincing to himself.

Hermione nodded firmly. "That's right, because together, we are going to save her life."

"How?" Draco's mouth was dry.

Hermione smiled. "I'm so glad you asked me that." 

CHAPTER 20: HOMECOMING

Narcissa paced her salon restlessly. She had drunk enough Draught of Peace to kill a hypogriff. For about two years now, she had had to resort to drinking the augmented version as she had built up too much of a tolerance for the unadulterated original, and even so, she was not even slightly sleepy. The lack of news from Lucius distressed her more than bad news would. The _Daily Prophet_ had kept silent, so if Lucius had implemented some sort of a plot there, it had worked so far. However, the owl from Hogwarts that informed her that her son had beaten the Weasley girl so badly she had ended up in the hospital enraged Narcissa. The situation had Lucius written all over it. Narcissa loved her son more than life itself, but knew that Draco was powerless to stand up to his father. 

Now as she waited for Lucius to return from Hogwarts, Narcissa felt like a caged animal. Time ticked by and the stars and constellations on her pretty ceiling wheeled overhead, but did nothing to soothe her. Eventually, through the open door, she heard the unmistakable snap of someone Apparating. Before she could even walk into the hallway, she heard a second snap. She rushed down the stairs and started in surprise.

“Draco,” she said, embracing her son. Lucius caught her eye behind Draco’s back and shot her a look of warning that informed her that Draco knew nothing. Narcissa looked away and let Draco go. “What are you doing back?” she asked.

“I was expelled, mother.” 

She had never heard such defeat in her son’s voice. “Expelled?” she repeated, her eyes darting back to Lucius. “You let Draco take the fall for your error?” she asked.

Before Lucius could answer, Draco spoke up. “It wasn’t his fault, mother.” Draco sighed deeply and looked at the marble floor. “I should have been more careful, more crafty.” Narcissa looked at him in surprise. She could cite each of Draco’s personality traits, but contrition was rarely among them and humility never was. Narcissa looked at Lucius again, who smirked at Draco. Narcissa heard blood rushing in her ears. 

She could support Lucius’ agenda inasmuch as it supported Draco, but now that he had made Draco a sacrificial lamb, all bets were off. For a brief instant, Narcissa felt a kinship with the now-incapacitated Weasley girl. In a sense, she was right; Lucius should not be allowed to get away with all he did, particularly if his own flesh and blood were fair game for his designs. Before Narcissa could unleash a tirade, Draco spoke once more, with the same defeat in his voice. “Good night, Mother. Father.” He traipsed down the hall away from them, with his shoulders hunched and his head still hanging. 

When his footsteps faded, Narcissa faced Lucius. “How could you?” she said.

Lucius regarded her. “He can attend Durmstrang,” he said indifferently. “In fact, if we transfer him without delay, he may still graduate this year.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Narcissa didn't event try to keep the animosity out of her voice.

Lucius looked at her coldly. "If you think I did this purposefully to get Draco expelled, you understand even less than I thought you did. I may not like Hogwarts but believe me, I would much rather have had him succeed in his task than have him fail utterly and be expelled. His mistakes are going to cause me a tremendous headache before this is all over." 

"And that's what matters most, doesn't it, _your_ discomfort? You have no right to blame Draco for this. You made this about you the minute you engaged in that contemptible deal, and especially when you involved Draco.”

“He has to follow before he can lead.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Spare me the party line, Lucius. Does he even know why he was expelled?”

Lucius smiled at her. “You were there when the owl arrived from Hogwarts. He put some poor girl in the hospital.”

“Don’t be droll. Can you honestly ignore that Draco only did this out of loyalty to you? Does that truly mean nothing to you?” Narcissa was gratified to see Lucius’ smile fade. She let her voice soften. “There was a time when you cared that he was your son. You owe him an explanation, if not an apology.”

“I owe him nothing. It’s his own fault he was caught.”

Narcissa called his bluff. “Very well, then I’ll tell him myself.” She turned on her heel. Lucius grabbed her arm and spun her back around again to face him. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he hissed. “You and Draco do have this in common: neither of you is capable of seeing the larger picture. If I had nobly taken the fall for our son, I would have been sent back to Azkaban, whereas Draco was only ever going to be expelled.” He let her go.

"He'll go to Azkaban if the Weasleys press charges. He's of age Lucius, or have you been in prison so long that you've forgotten that?"

Lucius glared at her venomously. "I hadn't forgotten. But the day I fear the influence of the Weasleys is the day I give up practicing magic, Narcissa."

“That still doesn’t excuse the fact that you set him up to fall in the first place, for something that had nothing to do with him. You used to do your own dirty work.”

Lucius demeanor changed suddenly. He smiled once more and shook his head. “Really, Narcissa. I thought you knew me better than that, and besides we talked about this already. Miss Weasley's assault was simply a means to an end.” 

Narcissa said nothing. Just then, one of their servants approached, a house elf wearing a neat, Malfoy-crested tea towel. “MacNair, Lord and Master,” it announced, before bowing and retreating.

Walden MacNair shuffled into the foyer, nodding his greetings to both the Malfoys before addressing Lucius. “The package has arrived,” he said. 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?” He glanced at Narcissa, his eyes glinting with victory. “Then it's time to work.”


	6. 21: Covert Operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes hasty preparations to rescue Ginny and examines her own reasons for doing so. Hermione infiltrates Malfoy Manor using her magical wiles, but finds the process not without extreme peril. Within Malfoy Manor itself, Hermione finds an unlikely one-time ally. 
> 
> _Hermione crossed her legs and drummed her fingers on the desk, her other hand now cupping her chin. Yes, Lucius was damn good, so then how much better would the person have to be to actually stop him, to beat him at his own sneaky little game? Ginny had gone after him with an axe, when what she really needed was a scalpel. Hermione smiled suddenly. The thought alone of out-smarting Lucius made rescuing Ginny seem worthwhile. Besides, getting one over on Lucius, seeing the disbelief in his eyes that anyone could do it, particularly a witch, particularly a_ young _witch, particularly a young,_ Muggle-born _witch, had felt indecently good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie: this chapter was a blast to write. World-building and playing around making my own stuff up in the Potterverse fills me with joy and I got to write a lot of _Ocean's Eleven_ /black ops-type things in this one...BUT MAGICAL. For this reason, I am posting this chapter solo, which I don't usually do (although it is over 5,000 words long). The way I figure it, you guys deserve a fun chapter after what I gave you last week (*coughandinpreparationforwhat'scomingnextcough*). In any event, this chapter is dedicated to my husband, who helped me come up with a lot of the ideas therein, and to Wikipedia. I hope it's as much fun to read as it was to write...

CHAPTER 21: COVERT OPERATION

After Hermione had let Draco out of his captivity and he had left, she sat at a desk in the empty classroom and started to think. Because they had been so short on time, Hermione had felt compelled to make a split-second decision, which of course was to enlist Draco's help to free Ginny. It wasn't like Hermione to make choices spontaneously like that; she preferred to weigh them out, placing the risks and benefits like golden ingots on her mind's scale until it gracefully tipped into a logical decision. And now, even with the resolution made, her mind still made calculations.

Even though she had forgiven Ginny, Hermione had not forgotten, and there was a part of her mind, an evil, petty part that told her now that Ginny was getting no more than she deserved first at the clumsy but brutal hands of Draco, and now at the precise but no less brutal hands of Lucius. Hermione and Ginny had both been warned not once, not twice, but _thrice_ against going up against him. For her part, Hermione had thought that it would stop with Narcissa Malfoy and then later had thought surely it must stop with Snape and, their lesson learned, it would be over. 

Additionally, from the inception of the idea, Hermione had never intended for the pictures to become public. It was Ginny who had let that metaphorical curse leave her wand with no regard whatsoever for the consequences to Hermione. Then, even though she realized she was wrong, she had delayed stopping them from going to print, and in fact had never successfully completed that mission at all: it was only Lee's actions that had averted disaster. Yes, Ginny had much to atone for and a night spent on Lucius' mercy would certainly help her in that way, if he didn't kill her in the process.

That was the crux of the problem in regards to Ginny and one of the main reasons why Hermione felt compelled to help. Whatever Ginny had done, death was extreme in proportion to her crime. Then again, Dumbledore seemed incontrovertably convinced that Lucius wouldn't actually kill her. Hermione just wasn't sure. Lucius had certainly threatened it, had certainly been angry enough to do it, but would he take the risk now that he had actually been tried, sentenced, and convicted for his crimes? Moreover, would he risk more than he already had with Draco? On the other hand, Lucius was an expert in evading blame, framing others, and, if the rumors about him were true, making people disappear off the face of the earth. 

Hermione just couldn't take that risk with Ginny. Even if it wasn't for Ginny's sake, the sight of Ron and Harry's ashen faces when Ginny was in the hospital wing was enough to soften Hermione's heart. After all, Ginny was Ron's sister and closest sibling and besides being devastated over her loss, nothing good would come of Ron's going up against Draco and re-igniting a still-smoldering vendetta between the two families. 

As far as Harry was concerned, Hermione was never one hundred percent sure what was going on between him and Ginny, but it was definitely enough of a _something_ to give Hermione pause over treating Ginny's life negligibly. There were also the rest of the Weasleys to consider as well as Hermione herself. She would probably never trust Ginny again, but it wasn't as if she didn't care about her at all. Hermione massaged her forehead with one hand. No, ignoring Ginny's danger wasn't worth it. 

Hermione dropped her hand after a moment and sighed. She ran her thumbnail along a groove in the polished wood of the desk, wondering how many other students had done the same thing as her thoughts turned to Lucius. The initial shock of just how low he was willing to sink was wearing off and Hermione had since found that figuratively clutching at her pearls was a waste of time. She realized that for his part, Lucius was just doing what his wits and his personality were wired to do, following his own rigid, if pathological, moral compass. This set of values dictated that Lucius take any action, regardless of how coldblooded, to ensure his own survival, his own supremacy, facets of himself that the blackmail scheme had clearly put in danger. Another aspect that informed his behavior was that he was hyper-competitive, something that Hermione uncomfortably now realized that they had in common. Not that it made any of it right, but his ensuing string of actions was predictable, inevitable, and apparently unstoppable. _And he's just so damn good at it,_ Hermione thought resentfully. 

Hermione crossed her legs and drummed her fingers on the desk, her other hand now cupping her chin. Yes, Lucius was damn good, so then how much better would the person have to be to actually stop him, to beat him at his own sneaky little game? Ginny had gone after him with an axe, when what she really needed was a scalpel, not unlike Draco's approach to the situation versus Lucius'. Hermione smiled suddenly. The thought alone of out-smarting Lucius made rescuing Ginny seem worthwhile. Besides, getting one over on Lucius, seeing the disbelief in his eyes that anyone could do it, particularly a witch, particularly a _young_ witch, particularly a young, _Muggle-born_ witch, had felt indecently good. Lucius did not have many weaknesses it seemed, but Hermione had already encountered a glaring one: that he had no idea just how audacious Hermione could be, and Hermione would cash in on the fatal flaw of his hubris as many times as she needed to. 

If she could infiltrate Malfoy Manor and extract Ginny successfully out from underneath Lucius' nose, it would mean a definitive win against him, which would also feel..."You have got to be joking," Hermione whispered in disbelief as the thought made her inner thighs start to tingle. She squeezed the muscles in her thighs and relaxed them a few times experimentally. Yes, she was definitely getting turned on thinking about topping Lucius. _Topping Lucius?_ her brain asked her maliciously. _Is that what's getting you hot?_ And now _that_ image was stuck in her head. "What is wrong with me?" she asked the empty room. He was thoroughly evil, and yet compelling for all that. In him, Hermione had finally found a foil for her sharp mind, which was one reason she realized she was perversely attracted to him: the idea of mentally engaging with him was one she found nearly as exciting as the idea of physically engaging with him.

Hermione uncrossed her legs and quickly re-focused. _My plan,_ she thought, _I need to solidfy my plan and make it cohesive._ Although he had agreed to his part of the plan when Hermione had described it to him, Draco had been nigh useless in coming up with anything himself. Hermione knew that he was a bit shell-shocked with the news of his expulsion, but still. He didn't know where the external entrances were to the Malfoy estate. He didn't know where any security measures were on the acres of land surrounding the house, or even what they entailed. He didn't know any secret ways from the exterior to the interior of the house itself. All he knew was that _he_ could Apparate in and out at will because he was a Malfoy. Put simply, being the rich, entitled prat that he was, he took the entire concept for granted. Yes, there was a security system in place, because of course there was, one he had never even had to give a second thought to, and thus he was woefully ignorant. 

Hermione had finally gotten fed up with him. "I _need_ information, Malfoy," she had shot at him, running her fingers through her wavy hair before glaring in his direction. "I can't make bricks without clay."

"It's servants' stuff, Granger," he had said haughtily, or as haughtily as he could while trussed up like a holiday turkey. Hermione hadn't known if he meant literally making bricks or if he meant knowing the minutiae of the security system. Probably both. She was too exasperated with him at that point to ask him to elaborate. In the end, she left it at him just assuring her that he knew where the internal alarm system was, how to access it, and describing what it looked like. According to Draco, it was Goblin-designed potion circuits, which Hermione was pretty confident she could disable if he could get her in.

 _Servants, that's what he relies on to keep himself safe,_ Hermione thought contemptuously, now reflecting back on their conversation. Servants, house elves-- She looked up suddenly. That was it. It was so simple she could have kicked herself for not coming to it first. She got out from behind the desk and made her way back in the direction of the Great Hall and the kitchen, which took her into the entrance hall of Hogwarts. Before she could get past it, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and rushed behind a statue just in time. 

It was Dumbledore and Lucius. Hermione held her breath and risked a peek. She could see that they were talking and she wished ardently for some of Fred and George's Extendable Ears. Strain as she might, she could not make out what they were saying, so she just watched, trying to pick up as much as she could. She knew (well, _everyone_ knew) that Lucius hated Dumbledore, so it was mystifying that they were even talking given the circumstances. Also, something was off about their body language; for one, they were standing rather closer together than enemies typically did. Lucius was looking at the floor, something Hermione certainly had never seen him do and nodding occasionally. Next to him, Dumbledore's posture and expression were decidedly empathetic. If she didn't know any better, she would think that Dumbledore was comforting him, even going so far as putting a reassuring hand on Lucius' arm, which Lucius didn't move away. 

It was beyond tantalizing not to hear what they were saying, as the entire scene was uncanny. After just a moment, Lucius' head snapped up as he noticed something to Dumbledore's left. Lucius took a quick step away from Dumbledore before pulling his shoulders back, tilting his chin up, and adopting his characteristic look of haughty superiority as Draco came back around the corner.

Lucius turned to leave and Draco fell into step to his left and half a pace behind him. Hermione recognized it as old pureblood etiquette, the inferior caster walked in the position that Draco now held to allow the superior caster to cast first (assuming right-hand dominance), and also to have his back. Draco looked numb with shock and Lucius looked...Hermione squinted in an attempt to focus. To Hermione's suprise, Lucius' expression appeared relieved, and with every step out of Hogwarts, he seemed to relax. Even as Hermione watched them, she saw Lucius glance over at Draco with an expression of tenderness that she would never have believed of him if she wasn't seeing it with her own eyes. However, when Draco looked back at him, Lucius had already schooled his face back to frosty contempt, so Draco's gaze drifted away and back to the ground. 

Hermione watched them turn the corner and disappear, her analytical mind turning what she had just seen over and over, trying to make sense of it. Why was Dumbledore acting so solicitous with Lucius? Believing he wouldn't kill Ginny was one thing, but being overtly kind to him was something else entirely, particularly in light of what had just happened with Ginny. Was Dumbledore truly that gullible? Somehow, Hermione didn't think so; he had to know something that Hermione didn't. Moreover, why would Lucius be relieved that Draco was leaving Hogwarts? Disappointed, she could understand. Angry, she could also understand, but relieved? And then to hide all of this from Draco...Hermione didn't comprehend what she had seen at all and, frustrated, she gave up and moved stealthily back to the kitchens. 

When she got there, she tickled the pear in the painting and it swung wide. Hermione stepped into the warm, comfy Hogwarts kitchen. The fire was down to embers, bathing the room in an inviting red glow. The kitchen always smelled like fresh baked bread and Hermione's stomach rumbled. 

"'Mione Granger is hungry, Dobby can tell." 

Hermione smiled as she saw a pair of ears under one of her wool hats make its way around the massive wooden prep table. Her favorite house elf manifested and gave her a courtly bow. 

"It's great to see you, Dobby," Hermione greeted him.

Dobby smiled and brought forth a ham and cheese sandwich on the same fresh-baked bread that had made the kitchen so fragrant, and a glass of pumpkin juice, set them on the table and pulled out a stool for Hermione. "Thanks, Dobby," Hermione said, gratefully falling on the sustenance. 

"Dobby always thinks it's great to see 'Mione Granger, too, miss," Dobby said. "But Dobby can't help but wonder why 'Mione Granger is here in the middle of the night." He looked at her with wide-eyed curiosity. 

"I need to ask you what might possibly be the biggest favor I've ever asked a house elf."

Dobby bowed again. "Anything," he said, standing back up and looking at her with such admiration that Hermione felt guilty for what she was about to request.

"I need you to tell me how I can break into Malfoy Manor."

*****

After consulting with Dobby, Hermione got ready. Although her meeting with Dobby was far more satisfying than her meeting with Draco, it did consist of a lot of Dobby smacking his head on the table every time he gave her a viable piece of intelligence, an unfortunate knee-jerk throwback to his Malfoy enslavement, so the meeting took longer than Hermione wanted it to. As soon as it was over, she went back to her room in Gryffindor tower as fast as she could, running the list in her mind of the things she would need. 

When she got back, Hermione changed from her Hogwarts robes into an all-black Muggle outfit, black jeans, black low-top running shoes, and a black shirt. She loaded some necessary items into her bag, hoping that it would be enough. She left the portrait hole once again, and climbed down staircase after staircase until she came out on the ground floor. Part of the problem with not being able to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts was that getting anywhere involved a lot of walking. Not that Hermione minded walking in general, but on this night, time was not her friend.

Once she got outside, she speed-walked down to the gate, keeping to the shadows. There was absolutely no moon, but thousands of stars, which was an advantage in that it would make Hermione herself harder to see, but then again it would make everything else harder to see as well. When she got beyond the gates of Hogwarts, she ducked behind a bush and took out her wand. She took one deep breath, concentrated hard on the coordinates Dobby had given her, and Disapparated.

When Hermione Apparated, she landed at the edge of a field next to a barbed wire fence. _"Lumos,"_ Hermione said, figuring this far from Malfoy Manor she was probably safe. On closer inspection with the circle of blue light Hermione now bore, she noticed that it was not barbed wire, but concertina wire, loops and loops of razor-edged metal stretching seemingly infinitely in either direction. The wire was not new, however, it was rusty and overgrown, although there was still a sign attached to it that said _Military Installation, Keep Out; Danger: Unexploded Ordnance (UXO),_ along with a helpful black and red graphic of an explosion and a small stick person being thrown back from the blast. Hermione smiled. As far as she was concerned, the sign might just as well be a welcome mat from the Malfoys. 

Just to be sure, she _Nox_ 'd her wand and said, _"Promo Praecantatio."_ As soon as Hermione said the incant, the Malfoys' Muggle-repelling and Anti-intruder charms lit the fence like pink and purple Christmas lights, and like the fence, extended as far as Hermione could see in either direction, as well as far up into the sky. They lasted for about fifteen seconds, before twinkling out once again. Hermione frowned. So, getting past both the literal fence and the magical barriers would be her first obstacle.

Hermione bit her lip, pondering. She couldn't go through the fence, obviously, as that would trigger the Anti-intruder Charm and her adventure would be over before it started. If she had a broom, she might be able to fly over, but she didn't, and she was a lousy flier anyway, so that left going under. It was time for her first really tricky spell, an insanely powerful one that she had only cast successfully once. She closed her eyes, envisioning the spell going off perfectly, the first step to casting anything, but particularly something challenging, concentrated with all her might and spoke the incant: _"Solumsese."_

At first, Hermione wasn't sure if it had worked as she felt exactly the same, but then she opened her eyes. Her heart leapt as she saw nothing but earth, stretching out in all directions, networked all over with earthworm trails, and thousands of grass roots. She was in the earth; no, she _was_ the earth, her being magically dispersed into the soil. Wasting no time basking in her victory, she willed herself forward, watching as the roots passed around her and through her. At one point, she did see a buried artillery shell, a few feet to her right, and even though she was non-corporeal, made a point to steer clear, just in case. Seeing it surprised her as usually the actual danger signs were largely bogus ones put in place by wizards simply to keep Muggles out, so it was unusual to see a legitimate one on wizarding property. Then again, Hermione was hard pressed to imagine a wizarding family more hell-bent than the Malfoys on keeping their property Muggle-free by any means necessary.

Hermione pushed on. Moving was easy, it was just a matter or keeping her mind focused. Before too long, the grass roots gave way to tree roots, which increased in number and size as she moved forward and soon, Hermione found that they were so thick that she couldn't proceed any farther. _Finite incantatum,_ she thought. She felt immense pressure on her head, her neck, her torso, her midsection, and lastly her legs as the earth extruded her once again. She went to brush herself off, but found that she was surprisingly clean. 

She was in a forest, but if she thought seeing anything without a moon was difficult in the open spaces of Hogwarts, it was about ten times harder in the dark of the trees. _"Lumos minima,"_ she said. A tiny pinprick of light shone from the end of her wand. She un-slung her bag and put it on the moss at her feet. Taking a knee, she opened her bag and used her wand to search for what she was looking for. It was a small vial with a label that said _Cat's Eye Potion._ She popped the cork and downed the potion, which had a sour, sharp but not terrible taste, like lemon and rosemary. Hermione replaced the cork and dropped the empty vial into her bag.

She waited a minute for the potion to work. Slowly, the trees started to materialize, vague shapes at first, then roots and trunks, then leaves, and finally fissures in the bark realized in full resolution. It didn't allow Hermione to see the same as in daytime; everything was desaturated and green, but the detail was perfectly clear. Hermione darkened her wand once again, stood and put her backpack back on, but kept her wand out and in front of her. 

Hermione proceeded quickly, but as quietly as she could, every sense on alert. Dobby had said that many magical creatures lived on the Malfoy parkland, and that Hermione would have to be on her guard, but wouldn't or couldn't be more specific than that. To be fair, it was unlikely that Dobby ventured too far from the house and the immediate property during his tenure at Malfoy Manor. In fact, he probably was not allowed to. Hermione pondered this as she jumped over a brook, being careful not to dip so much as a toe in.

She found this forest beautiful, not menacing like the Forbidden Forest was. It must have seen a lot of rain or moisture, because everything was covered in moss, and Hermione could see hundreds of different species of mushrooms growing from rotted logs and the leaf litter under her feet. Some were tiny, dotting the stumps in constellations, some were over a foot wide and spotted, growing up from the ground like sentinels, and some had stalks that grew in braids around each other. It was a veritable potion-master's paradise and Hermione smiled in the dark, wondering what a teenage Professor Snape must have made of this the first time he saw it.

Distracted, she tripped on a tree root and found herself entangled in vines. To her dismay, they immediately started coiling around her arms and midsection. _Devils' Snare,_ Hermione thought, almost relieved as realized what it was. She squeezed her eyes shut to protect her magically-enhanced vision and cast her bluebell flame spell; _Snore..I'm already bored, Malfoy,_ she thought. She felt the Devil's Snare untangle and freed herself. 

She re-adjusted her backpack and pressed on, reminding herself not to get complacent or cocky. As she made her way through the forest, she started to see signs of civilization, an old wagon wheel here, a rusty cauldron there. Up ahead, a group of objects glowed almost bright white, through what appeared to be a giant birds' nest. Hermione froze for a moment, waiting to see if any of them moved. They did not, so she moved closer cautiously. 

As she got nearer for a better look, Hermione noted that what looked like a birds' nest was actually another fence, this one circular and made out of thousands of pieces of driftwood. The driftwood made eerie organic shapes almost resembling antlers. The circle possessed an opening in the form of a stone archway bracketed by two columns. Hermione moved through it. The figures she had glimpsed were statues, standing in a circle, all facing each other. Hermione moved inside the circle for a better look. 

The first statue was of a nymph, beautifully carved in flawless white marble. Well, almost flawless. A smear of something dark was rubbed over its right arm. Hermione couldn't see the color because of the effects of the potion, and she didn't dare touch it, but when she sniffed it, it smelled metallic and Hermione surmised it was likely blood. The second was a rearing pegasus, also in white marble, also with a smear of blood, this one over its left flank. The third was a wyvern, blood smeared over one of its eyes. And so on, perfect marble statues of magical creatures, although as the circle went, the creatures became more dangerous and as she turned, Hermione saw more scales, more horns, more teeth, and more claws. 

Within the driftwood circle, Hermione didn't even need to bother with a magical detection charm; the place crackled with magic, almost enough to make her hair stand on end. She backed away slowly, not wanting to disturb any of them and accidentally ran right into the one behind her, her shoe catching its front extremity. She gasped and threw her hands over her mouth, taking a step away from it. 

Hermione froze. The statue was the last and presumably the most dangerous, the one closest to the gate on the right, farthest from the benign nymph that had started the circle on the left. It was a statue of a manticore, with the body of a lion and face of an old man, its lips curled back in a snarl over an oversized mouth containing three sets of teeth, like a shark or an angler fish. As if that wasn't enough, it had gazelle horns sprouting from its forehead, bat wings folded over its smooth back and an articulated scorpion tail tipped in a poison stinger. 

At first, nothing happened and Hermione felt herself relax. But then the statue slowly started to move. Hermione backed away, fear gripping her chest, but being more careful this time, lest she disturb any other statues, as the manticore's bat wings slowly unfurled and stretched to a nine-foot span. "Who wakes me?" it said, its voice matching its face, a peevish codger disturbed from a nap, but lisping badly from attempting human speech from its grotesquely shaped mouth. It looked around with blind, white eyes. Each movement became more rapid and fluid with the passing seconds as it turned from marble to monster; only its eyes remained white and staring, glowing like embers in Hermione's preternatural sight.

Heart hammering, Hermione backed through the opening in the driftwood fence. "I can smell you," the manticore said. "You smell like magic. And you smell like fear." Without another thought, Hermione turned and fled. Once she was through the stone arch and out of the driftwood circle, she broke into a full-on sprint, flying headlong through the trees and jumping over fallen logs. The manticore flapped its wings twice to clear the fence and then landed directly behind her, its paws cracking through the log that Hermione had just vaulted. 

Hermione had read about manticores. They were creatures that made even Hagrid turn pale the one time she had asked about them. "Wouldn' want ter meet one of them on a dark night," was all he had said shakily. They were sort of a perfect storm of a monster, with a fast and powerful body, sharp claws on all four feet, horns that could disembowel, wings to fly, and venom to paralyze and poison. However, what it was most famous for was its ability to eat its victims without leaving anything, no bones, no clothes, not even any possessions. Even as she ran for her life, something clicked in Hermione's brain and she realized that this Malfoy family pet was quite possibly the reason that Lucius could (allegedly) make people disappear without a trace. It was not a comforting thought as she threw herself frantically towards his house.

She could hear the manticore crashing through the underbrush behind her. A branch cut her cheek, but Hermione just kept on running. She saw a boulder up ahead and darted around it, and then turned, pointed her wand at it, and yelled _"Expulso!"_ The rock exploded, pieces of it hitting the manticore. She heard it cry out and used the delay to shoot ahead.

To her alarm, she heard the beast struggle for only a moment and then immediately get back up, its claws tearing up the moss in its pursuit. Hermione's lungs were on fire and she knew she was slowing down. The manticore gained on her, and now she heard its wheezy breath, rattling over its teeth ( _so many, many teeth_ ). Before she knew it, the powerful paws had knocked her to the ground and she landed on her left side, her wand still clutched in her right hand. She saw the three rows of teeth rushing towards her face even as she worked her left hand out from underneath her to block her head. In desperation, she pressed her wand into the manticore's left side.

Without thinking, she yelled the first incant that came to her mind. _"Aguamenti!"_ Hermione had just a nano-second to ponder why at such a moment, she would choose to go alphabetically and start with something so completely useless in her current situation before the spell took effect. However, instead of water coming out of her wand, something dark came out and splattered over the underside of the manticore's left shoulder joint. The second it made contact, to Hermione's astonishment, the manticore retreated and folded its wings. _"Lord and Master, I rest,"_ it intoned in a sepulchral, non-lisping, ritual voice before turning to marble once again. Hermione scrambled backwards like a crab and got away from the statue. She then fell onto her back on the leaf litter and caught her breath, relief almost overwhelming her. 

When Hermione had recovered she sat up and stared at the end of her wand, trying to make sense of what seemed to her like a miracle. After just a moment, a flash of recollection and epiphany assaulted her brain and her jaw dropped as she realized what had happened. _The Dementor's Diamond. Tergeo._ She had used the spell to get Lucius' blood out of the Dementor's Diamond, simply so she could put hers in, thus re-activating the device for her own use on Draco. She never dreamed that Lucius' blood had stayed in her wand. Thus, when she had cast _Aguamenti,_ it had then come back out instead of water, its Malfoy purity deactivating the ancient magic permeating the statues. Hermione lay back on the ground once again and laughed somewhat hysterically. She had to give it to Lucius or whatever ancestor he had who had created the statues: it was amazing magic, even though it had almost killed her.

Buoyed up, she got to her feet and looked around. Behind her, the manticore rested placidly, once again pure white marble, save the one dark, blessed splotch below its left shoulder. When Hermione looked forward, she could see that the trees were thinning and in the distance could make out the tall yew hedges of the Malfoy formal gardens. Off to her right was an overgrown brick building. She smiled. Dobby had described this one to her; it had once been an exterior kitchen, but had been abandoned during a renovation in the mid-1800s. Because it was, as Draco had said, _servants' stuff_ , it had been forgotten by the Malfoys, according to Dobby. Hermione climbed in through a broken window and crept to the back corner. 

As Dobby had promised, Hermione found an iron ring mounted to the floor. She squatted down and pulled it up. With a cloud of dust, the trapdoor it was attached to opened, revealing a staircase. Hermione climbed down the stairs, leaving the trapdoor open behind her. The stairs led to an earthen passage, which, unfortunately, had been built for house elves, not people, so she had to crawl. It was slow going, but she made it through eventually, ending in a clean, dry root cellar. 

She climbed up the stone stairs at the far corner, which led to the interior kitchen of the manor house. Hermione tiptoed around house elves sleeping in multi-colored sleeping bags on the floor. By now, her Cat's Eye Potion was starting to wear off, which was good, because every candle she passed seared her eyes and made them water when the potion was in full effect. She walked through the door at the far end, into the dining hall, its black table lined with carved, ebony high-backed chairs with an elaborate, unlit crystal chandelier over top. Hermione moved around the table and placed her hand on the doorknob at the far side of the room.

"Something I can help you with, Miss Granger?" a voice said. 

Hermione started and turned to the sound of the voice. Narcissa Malfoy sat at the head of the table, drinking something from a crystal tumbler. Hermione had not thought to look back at the head of the table as she passed, and so had missed Mrs. Malfoy completely. "I--I just broke into your house..." Hermione started awkwardly, unsure of what to say or what propriety would even dictate in such an event. She felt something warm and wet dripping down her face and put her hand up. It came away bloody and she wiped it hastily on her trousers.

Mrs. Malfoy looked mildly amused. "Yes, I can see that, Miss Granger. What can I help you with?" 

Hermione looked at her in disbelief, having no clear idea whether or not Mrs. Malfoy was being sincere. "Wait...you _want_ to help me?" she asked.

Mrs. Malfoy took a sip of her drink, never breaking eye contact. "Think of it more as a one-time pass," she said. "A leveling of the playing field, as it were. Don't worry; as far as Lucius is concerned, _I_ didn't see anyone break in. So, I shall ask you one last time, and then I'm going to go to bed because it has been a long, trying day: what is it that you need to help you?"

Hermione didn't dare tempt fate by making Mrs. Malfoy repeat herself yet again. Still, she kept her request a simple one, just in case. "Draco's room...I just need him to..." she trailed off. 

Mrs. Malfoy smiled slightly. "Second floor, East Wing, seventh door on the left."

"Second door?"

"Seventh, Miss Granger. Seventh." She enunciated the last word more than was strictly necessary and took another drink. 

Hermione looked at her for just a moment longer. "Thank you," she finally said.

"Don't mention it," Mrs. Malfoy said, sneering. Without another word, she got up and stepped around Hermione, using the chair backs for support, and Hermione wondered how much she had had to drink. Mrs. Malfoy then opened the door and exited the room without looking back at her.

Confused, but strangely grateful, Hermione walked out of the dining hall and went up the stairs, following the directions that Mrs. Malfoy had given. When she got to the appointed room, she found the door ajar and slipped in. Draco's bed was empty and he was nowhere to be seen, but Mrs. Malfoy made out like he should be in there, so Hermione slipped into the shadows and waited for him. Once he made it back, they could begin the second phase. Hermione sighed as she realized her adventure in Malfoy Manor had just begun.


	7. 22: Camouflage; 23: Malfoy Hospitality; 24: Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco decides he's had enough and takes drastic action in an attempt to redeem himself. Hermione and Draco work together to spring Ginny free through a dangerous double cross of Lucius. Draco confronts Lucius after Lucius violently calls Hermione's bluff.
> 
> _Unfortunately, when all was said and done, Lucius had simply treated Draco like he treated everyone: a chess piece in an elaborate game to ensure that Lucius and Lucius alone remained at the apex, and everyone else fell beneath, including his own family. No wonder his mother had been so angry at him when they had returned from Hogwarts that night. Draco picked the photo up and placed it in the pocket of his robe, resolved in exactly what to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I've written this note about four times now, trying to figure out what to say about this chapter: it is a dark, intense, fairly violent chapter. I still like it, and I do pump the brakes in the next chapter. This is Lucius at his most vicious and scary, and karma does find him sooner _and_ later. Thanks for reading!

CHAPTER 22: CAMOUFLAGE

Draco had taken off his school robes and put on a white tee-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms and laid down on his bed. He watched the shadows play across the high plaster ceiling of his bedroom as he waited for whatever it was Hermione Granger was going to do. Restless, he sat up. After a moment he stood and threw on a dressing gown. He at least had to know the truth as to why his father had set him on Ginny and if possible, why Hermione was involved. After his father turned on him, he at least owed Draco that, and yet Draco knew it was pointless to ask. Then again, Hermione also had told him virtually nothing and he had to be more convinced before following her instructions blindly. Draco moved to his bedroom door, opened it, and poked his head out to listen. He could hear his parents' muffled voices in the foyer, but couldn't make out what they were saying. 

Taking advantage of his parents' momentary distraction, Draco hurried to his father's study, hoping to find some clue, but everything was immaculate, not a scrap of parchment even graced the desk. Disappointed but not surprised, Draco moved on to his mother's room. The door was open. He cocked an ear and could still hear his parents talking. The vast marble halls and columns made noises travel more so than they might otherwise, so Draco slipped in the door, assured of his privacy.

Everything seemed to be in order. Cosmetic potions lined the dressing table neatly. Only...what looked like a piece of paper lay on the dressing table. Curious, Draco moved closer and upon picking it up, realized it was a photograph. He took his wand out of his pocket. _"Lumos,"_ he said. Nothing happened. He remembered then that he couldn't cast magic and, cursing Hermione Granger's name, Draco moved back to the door. Once he was where the light was better, he turned the photograph over, revealing the image on the other side. When he realized what he was seeing and who was in the pictures, he almost couldn't believe his eyes.

Draco forced himself to look at the picture, disturbing though he found it. The picture explained almost everything and hardened Draco's heart utterly against his father. If nothing else, what was going on in the picture made Lucius the worst kind of hypocrite, after everything he had taught Draco about the importance of blood purity and not mixing with Mudbloods. Even without knowing the context of the picture, such as whether it was consensual or not, Draco found it despicable. And now Lucius had involved Draco in the situation surrounding the picture, which was so deplorable it made Draco's skin crawl.

One month, that was all it had taken Lucius, one Merlin-blessed _month_ out of prison. Draco knew that his father had a hard, unforgiving nature, but this betrayal was beyond the pale and something Draco would not have considered Lucius capable of prior to his stint in Azkaban. Draco had no idea what had happened to Lucius inside those anti-magical walls, and Lucius would sooner die than confide in him, or perhaps anyone, about it. Draco also had no idea why Lucius had been released when he did. The most obvious explanation, of course, was that he had bought or bribed his way out, but the timing was inexplicable. Lucius had gotten out three entire years before his sentence was supposed to have been up, and Draco somehow had a hard time believing it had been on good behavior. 

Things hadn't been the same since Lucius had been released; if Draco had thought him cold and distant before he was incarcerated, it was nothing to what he was like now that he had been freed. Draco thought that he himself had matured during the two years that his father had spent locked up. Even the Dark Lord had started asking Draco to do things, small missions involving minor-to-moderate Muggle attacks. Draco had been only too happy to carry these out and what was even better, he hadn't been caught at it yet. The Dark Lord was testing him, and Draco was pretty sure he was passing admirably. However, when he had told his father about it, Lucius was not pleased or proud, as Draco had expected him to be. If anything, he had looked troubled. "Be careful, Draco," is all he would say, his voice quiet. Thus, the distance between them widened. 

And now, with this new situation, it had turned into a chasm. Draco turned the picture over again, hiding its scandalous images. He looked for some indication of the picture's origin but was unsuccessful. The only thing that he could surmise was that Ginny Weasley must have been the one to take it, nothing else made sense. Draco suddenly felt torn about beating her up. He had told her the truth: he didn't like her and had never really forgiven her for casting the Bat Bogey Hex on him. That had been painful, humiliating, and completely out of proportion to what Draco had done to her. After all, Draco had just been following orders from the Deputy Headmistress at the time; he wasn't really even in the wrong. Thus, beating Ginny up for it had evened the score and had that been it, they would have been square, as far as Draco was concerned.

The problem was, not liking her and taking revenge for the Bat Bogey Hex were not the true reasons Draco had beaten her up, they were merely convenient excuses verbalized in the moment to strike fear into Ginny's heart. In looking at the picture, Draco realized the actual reason was because he was an expedient puppet, strategically placed in that moment to bring about Lucius' plot. Thinking about it, Draco realized that he felt more hurt about it than he had initially realized. The truth was, although he found Muggle attacks amusing, he had been carrying out the Dark Lord's requests in the hopes that it would bring Draco and his father closer.

When he had received the note, Draco had thrilled at the idea that his father was keen to trust him and forge a tighter bond, something he had seemed hesitant to do following his release from Azkaban. Unfortunately, when all was said and done, Lucius had simply treated Draco like he treated everyone: a chess piece in an elaborate game to ensure that Lucius and Lucius alone remained at the apex, and everyone else fell beneath, including his own family. No wonder his mother had been so angry at him when they had returned from Hogwarts that night. 

Draco picked the photo up and placed it in the pocket of his robe, resolved in exactly what to do. He then hesitated a moment and took it back out. Almost as an afterthought, he took a pair of his mother's nail scissors off of her vanity and cut Hermione's face out completely. Even though Draco didn't care for the uppity Mudblood any more than he cared for Ginny Weasley, it was the least he could do. It wasn't Draco's job to beg her forgiveness for his father's transgressions, but the way Draco saw it, if the picture was any indication, his family had hurt her enough. It wasn't about her at this point anyway. He returned the scissors and put the altered photo in his pocket. 

Draco slipped back out the door. The voices had ceased and so he raced back to his own room. He found a spare piece of parchment and an envelope in his school satchel. Unfortunately, both bore the Malfoy crest. Draco hesitated for a moment before coming to another resolution. In this instance, Lucius was right, it was time to stop hiding. He wrote on the parchment, _this is every bit as shocking as it looks; that's a Hogwarts student, her name doesn't matter..._ and signed the bottom, _Draco Lucius Malfoy._ He stared at his name, his father's name, and his family name. If this wasn't a clear message to his father, Draco didn't know what was. 

Draco thought of everything his father had said to him that evening and it solidified his resolve even more. _You have no strengths, no talents, and no uses...I’ll not lift a finger to help you, nor will I stand up for you._ So there it was; his father had no loyalty to him, so why should he have any loyalty back? The only qualm Draco had was that his actions would also likely hurt his mother, who was just trying to protect him, who had always protected him, and had been the first to stand up to Lucius on his behalf, and not just tonight. Draco sincerely regretted any harm that would come to her because of what he was about to do.

He slipped the note into the envelope and sealed it. His hand hesitated only once more above the envelope, quill poised before he finally wrote the name of the recipient. He opened his door a crack and leaned his head out again. He heard his mother's door slam and footsteps going down the stairs into the basement, accompanied by the voices of his father and friend-of-the-family-and-sometimes-employee Walden McNair. If Hermione was right, that meant that Ginny was now in their house, in the dungeon, awaiting his father's attention. Draco rushed down the hall, moving as quietly as he could and took the steps two at a time up the owlery tower. 

He chose a great horned owl, the fastest one in the owlery and fastened the envelope to its leg. "Go," he said to the owl. It flapped into the night. 

Stealthily, Draco crept back to his bedroom. He backed in, listening as he went. Everything was now silent. He closed the door quietly and then turned and started at the figure standing on the other side of his bed.

"Granger," he hissed, "How did you get in here?"

"Magic," she answered him sarcastically. "No help from you, I might add." She was dressed all in black. 

"Look, Granger, I saw the picture. Ginny Weasley took them, didn't she?"

Hermione looked away but didn't answer. As she turned her head from him, Draco noticed lacerations on the side of her face, one continuing to bleed. However she had gotten into the house, it hadn't been easy by the looks of it.

"Everything makes sense now," Draco said to her. "Everything. You, Weasley, and most of all, my father. "

Hermione folded her arms. "Well, now you know," she said. "Or, you know enough. You don't know where Ginny is, do you?" she asked.

"I have a pretty good idea," Draco said. He moved to the door. 

Hermione didn't move.

Draco gestured at her impatiently. "Come on, Granger," he said. "You were the one who said we didn't have much time."

She still resisted. "I invoke the Right of Hospitality," she said.

"I can't, Granger," Draco said, narrowing his eyes at her. 

"Then we can't go further," Hermione said, her mouth set.

"I. Can't. Cast. Magic," Draco growled. 

Hermione jumped as if he had pinched her, which, in that moment, Draco sort of wished he had. "Right," Hermione said sheepishly. "Sorry." She took out her wand. _"Exocorporia,"_ she said. Draco felt the unpleasant sensation of the Dementor's Diamond working itself out of his flesh. Hermione caught it as it came out. She set it on his dresser and then faced him, waiting. "The Right of Hospitality, please," she said.

Draco raised his eyebrows, surprised that she was familiar with the traditional pureblood spell. He took out his wand and pointed it at her. "Hermione Granger, you are a guest." He drew a glowing, white horizontal line in the air with his wand. "You receive guest right while on Malfoy property, and none of that name shall harm you herein." He moved to her side and drew another line. "You shall receive no harm." Now he moved behind her and drew line. "You shall receive no harm by any of the Malfoy name." Another line, this on her other side, now closing with the first line. "You shall receive no harm. Three times spoken, three times binding." The lines converged on Hermione, descending. It was some of the oldest magic, and some of the most beautiful, taught to pureblood witches and wizards the moment they turned 17 since time immemorial. For a moment, Hermione was awash in white light, before it faded. "There, happy?" Draco asked.

"Relieved, mostly," Hermione answered. "Assuming it holds."

Draco glared at her, affronted. "Of course it will hold, Granger," he spat. "I am both a man and a Malfoy."

Hermione looked at him oddly, almost with respect, but Draco knew better. Hermione recovered quickly and smirked. "You do know that _Malfoy_ means _bad faith_ , right? From the Latin."

"Shut up, Granger. No one likes a know-it-all."

She shrugged before turning to the bureau and picking up the Dementor's Diamond again. She magicked it back into Draco's body. "Anyway..." she said, drawing out the word. " _Now_ we can go."

Draco grabbed a few more items and stuffed them in his pockets before opening his bedroom door a crack. He listened for a moment and once again heard nothing. He opened the door all the way and cocked his head at Hermione. She followed him down the hall and then back down the stairs. Draco stopped at the atrium and gestured for her to hide. She slipped behind a pillar. 

Draco crossed the atrium, rolling from heel to toe to move silently and went down the hall and into an alcove that contained a broom closet. He opened the door, silently. On the wall was a panel that would have held circuit breakers in a Muggle household. In the Malfoy home, it contained the intricate mechanism of the alarm system, Goblin-designed, similar to some of the devices at Gringott's, a mess of brass gears, timers, gauges, and embedded vials of potions in different colors. It was locked by a combination in runes set into the door, which Draco now placed in sequence, praying his father hadn't changed them. He held his breath as he clicked the last one into place and then tried the handle. To his relief, the door opened. He then beckoned Hermione over and she darted into the broom closet next to him.

Hermione took off her backpack and set it on the floor. "Cast Lumos," she whispered at Draco. 

"Granger, for _fuck's_ sake, I can't," he said, frustrated. 

Hermione shook her head. "I forgot," she whispered back. Draco rolled his eyes, but the truth of it was, it was just so easy to take casting magic for granted and even though he had only been without magic for a couple of hours, he knew he would cast with new appreciation when he got the ability back, whenever that might be. 

For her part, Hermione hadn't even thought of how Draco was going to make it back to Malfoy Manor once she had embedded the diamond on him. That had taken some lightning-quick thinking on Draco's part and some sheer dumb luck. Fortunately, that particular problem had occurred to Draco before he actually had to Apparate with his father and subsequently fail in the attempt. He had thought of it while packing his belongings after talking to Hermione. He uncovered some of the old packages from home, going back chronologically as he dug in his trunk. At the very bottom, in what might have been the very first care package his mother had sent him, he found letter and a small parcel:

_Dearest Draco,_

_I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of you and how happy I am that you will be starting your magical education. I can only imagine the friends you'll make and the adventures you'll have. The only thing marring my delight is knowing how much I'm going to miss you. If you become homesick, to the point that you find it unbearable, please use the enclosed as it will take you back to Malfoy Manor the instant you touch it. Don't worry about getting into trouble: I will always have your back, now and forever._

_All the love in the world,_

_Your Mother  
Narcissa Black Malfoy_

Draco had felt an instant reprieve and had quickly pocketed the small package. Then, after they had left Hogwarts property and Lucius had Apparated, Draco unwrapped the package. Inside was an old Golden Snitch, the same one he had used in practice at home prior to coming to Hogwarts. Well, catching the Snitch was something he was good at and it was a poignant reminder of how well his mother knew him. Without hesitating, he touched the Snitch bare-handed and, as his mother had promised, was transported back immediately to Malfoy Manor, mere seconds after his father. Merlin only knew what his mother had had to go through to get the Portkey made, but whatever it was, Draco was beyond grateful for it.

Back in the broom closet, Hermione cast Lumos herself, holding the wand over her bag so she could see. She reached into her bag and brought forth a mechanical bird with a silver key in its back, similar to some of the devices Draco had seen in Dumbledore's office. Draco liked birds and wondered randomly if Hermione would let him keep that one when all was said and done. She stood back up and put her backpack back on. She held the bird up. It didn't move, but stared at Draco with beady onyx eyes. Hermione wound it 20 times. Holding her breath, she poised the bird over the vial labeled _L. Office_. She looked at Draco for confirmation and he nodded. Hermione then gently let the bird go. 

The bird wrapped its delicate metal talons around the vial and cocked its head at Draco for a second. Then, Draco heard the gears whir to life. Slowly, the bird drew its head back and then, with a snap, brought its beak down on the vial with the quietest _clink_. It drew its head back again, brought it forward with a snap and then its beak clinked the vial once again. _Snap, clink. Snap, clink._

Hermione extinguished her wand and then poked her head out of the door. The house was completely still, but that didn't mean anything: Draco knew that there were silencing charms on the dungeon, so anything could be happening down there. He crept out and down the hall, keeping to the shadows, Hermione in his wake. They made it back up to Draco's bedroom. Once there, Draco opened a window, something he knew he could do without tripping any alarms. He climbed out and dropped to the ground, rolling as he landed. Hermione followed him, hanging down from her hands, and then dropped down. Draco steadied her, keeping her from falling. As he did, he reflected on just how much they were both having to rely on each other this night.

He let go as soon as she had her feet, then, putting a finger to his lips, ran over the manicured lawn, skirting the yew topiary and the boxwood hedges, using them as cover. There was no moon, but enough stars to illuminate the reflective surfaces of white marble and gravel and give them some light. Between two rows of arborvitae was a reflecting pool with a statue of a satyr at one end. Little breezes dusted over the top of the water, turning his and Hermione's images into blurry figures. Draco inclined his head. "One way into the dungeon," he whispered. He crouched next to the pool where a small patch of what looked like moss appeared to float. "You'll need this," he said, pulling out a soggy handful and handing half of it to her. He put the other half in his mouth, removed his robe, moved the items from his robe pockets to the pockets of his pajamas, and slipped into the water. 

His neck itched as the gillyweed took effect. He didn't bother to look and see if Hermione followed; he knew she would. Draco moved about six feet under the water to a steel grate that was bolted in place. His hands moved in quick sequence, touching all four bolts in a specific order. The grate slowly swung open and he and Hermione swam through the tunnel behind it. As Draco swam, he felt a surge of indignant pride. _See, Granger?_ he thought, _I_ do _know my way around Malfoy Manor_.

Darkness closed around them. Draco reached into his pocket and brought out a small globe, which he hit against the wall of the tunnel. It flickered to life, creating creepy grayish-green shadows on walls fuzzy with algae. They swam farther and farther into the tunnel, which curved and branched. Draco knew which way to go, luckily. Some of those tunnels ended in grindylow nests and other, fouler things. 

A faint yellow light appeared before them, growing ever brighter, and not a moment too soon as Draco felt his neck itch again as the gillyweed began to wear off. A few more strokes and they reached the end of the tunnel into another pool. They broke the surface of the water, breathing hard. The far end of the pool had steps carved into one wall, although the pool continued under a wall, into another channel. 

They climbed out and caught their breath. Hermione took out her wand. She cast the warm-air charm on herself, drying both her and her clothes. 

Draco watched her. "A little help, Granger?" he asked, as the water coming off of him and his clothes created a puddle around him.

Hermione gave him a long-suffering look. 

"Oh come on, it's not as if I can do it myself," Draco snapped. "Remember _this_ time? Don't be petty."

"Fine," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She cast the warm air charm on him as well. It felt terrific and Draco didn't even bother to suppress his sigh of rapture.

Not far away, a scream rent the damp air.

"Ginny," Hermione said. "We have to hurry." She took her backpack off, and Draco noted that it was dry, impressed that Hermione had possessed the presence of mind to cast an Impervius charm on it before they had submerged themselves in the dark channels of Malfoy Manor's underbelly. Hermione opened her bag and took out a hospital gown and a pair of light green pajama pants. She set them down, dug around in the bag once more and brought out two bottles and an envelope. She set the bottles down next to the clothes. Carefully, she opened the envelope and extracted a long ginger hair. She opened one of the bottles and dropped the hair in.

She looked up at Draco and held out a hand. Draco sighed. This was the part of Hermione's plan he had been dreading most, without question the most dangerous part, but he had agreed to it and there was no turning back now. He reached up and pulled out a hair, handing it to Hermione. She took it and dropped it into the other bottle. Both bottles hissed. They glanced at each other. "Don't look," they said at the same time. Simultaneously, they turned their backs on one another. 

Draco waited until he heard Hermione strip, and then took off all of his clothes as well. He tossed them back to her. At the same time, the hospital gown and pajamas landed at his feet. "Count of three," Hermione said. They counted together. On three, Draco drank the bottle. It didn't taste bad, like ginger and cloves, but the consistency was like cement, difficult to swallow, but still he managed. Then the strangeness came as his spine compressed, his rib cage shrank, his hair lengthened and changed in color and texture and, perhaps strangest of all, he changed from male to female. He had never drank Polyjuice potion before and found that he did not relish the experience. "I think I'm going to be sick," he said in Ginny's voice. "Oh."

In reply, he heard his own annoyed sigh. "Just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth." He tried it a few times and the waves of nausea subsided. He heard Hermione put on the clothes that he had discarded. "And put on your costume. And Draco?" Her voice (his voice) carried a threat.

"I know, I know, don't look," he muttered. 

"Don't look, don't touch, don't even _think_ , Malfoy," she said firmly. "You've abused her body enough today."

"Same goes for you, Granger," Draco retorted. "Hands off the merchandise."

"Dare. To. Dream," came the sharp reply.

Draco smiled in spite of himself. "I'm serious," he said. "As of this moment, you're jaunting around in a precision instrument of speed, strength, and magic, refined over centuries of perfect breeding. I just ask that you respect it for the wonder that it is." 

"Oh, you have _got_ to stop," Hermione said, clearly annoyed.

Draco smirked as he pulled on the pajama pants and put his arms through the holes in the gown, tying it in the back. He freed his now long, red hair from the tie. Draco turned around. His own face looked back at him, but it wasn't quite right. He shook his head. "You look scared," he said to Hermione. 

"I _am_ scared, you idiot." 

"Draco's not scared in his own house," Draco pointed out. "If you're going to be me, you must do it properly. Stand up straight. Look down your nose. Call me a Muggle-loving bitch." 

Hermione drew her shoulders back and tilted her nose up. "M-muggle-loving bitch," she said.

"Like you mean it."

"Muggle-loving bitch." It was sharper this time, but still uncertain.

"Once more, and you've got it." 

"Muggle-loving bitch," Hermione said, biting each word off. 

"That's marginally better," Draco said. He looked at her for a moment, reflecting. It was both surreal and unpleasant to be on the receiving end of his own bullying. 

Hermione broke him out of his reverie. "Wands?"

Draco hesitated. "I don't think so." 

Hermione pursed her lips. "What if he notices?" 

Draco shook his head. "Look, Granger, we only have one chance to get this right. With stakes this high, do you really want to go up against my father with a wand that's not your own? Do you think it's worth the risk?"

Hermione paused. "I suppose not. But you'd better be right." 

Another scream came from farther up the tunnel. 

" _Now_ , we have to go _now_ ; he's killing her," Hermione said, switching her weight impatiently from foot to foot.

"We can't," Draco said. "We have to wait. How long did you give the wind-up bird?"

"20 minutes," Hermione said.

Another scream.

"Then it won't be long now." Draco said.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Hermione answered.

CHAPTER 23: MALFOY HOSPITALITY

When Ginny had woken up in the dungeon at Malfoy Manor, she was filled with a sense of morbid serendipity. After all, she was the one who had told Lucius, through his wife, to do his worse. And now, no doubt he would. When Lucius had come into the dungeon, the first thing he had done was to heal all of the damage Draco had inflicted, however, which had confused Ginny, because Madame Pomfrey had distinctly said that no one could. But then Lucius had explained the Dementor's Diamond to her. When she had asked him why, he had replied, chillingly, "Think of yourself as a blank canvas, Miss Weasley." Lucius had then promised the Cruciatus curse to Ginny. Before doing so, he had weirdly asked her if she wanted to be an Auror, because apparently Draco had mentioned it. Echoing her father, Ginny had said, "Yes, someone needs to stop people like you." 

That had amused him. Lucius had smiled and said. "People like me? How nicely put, Miss Weasley. From where you lie, my behavior must seem quite reprehensible. However, I can assure you that, cruel or merciful, all of my actions serve a purpose. You may even thank me for this one day."

Then, he had informed that Aurors had to withstand two out of the three Unforgivables, so he might as well cast them on her. With that, he delivered his Cruciatus. It was worse than anything Ginny had imagined. She had told herself that she wasn't going to scream, that she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, but ate her resolution as soon as the curse struck. It was obviously not Lucius' first go-around, and he had done it so casually it was frightening. And then Lucius suddenly broke it, and Ginny relaxed onto the table, breathing hard, her body shaking. "Savor this feeling, Miss Weasley," he said, "it's an adequate representation of what life can be like if you simply tell me the name of your _Daily Prophet_ contact."

"No way," Ginny said between breaths. "No way. You'll kill them. And you've done enough."

Lucius sighed. "In the interest of full disclosure, I will tell you that I don't really want to kill them. Doing so will create new problems for me. My sole concern is getting to them before they print the story. I'll only kill them if they _insist_ on printing it, whether I speak to them beforehand or not. In other words, you're wasting time right now and putting them in danger with your hesitancy."

Ginny shook her head. "I can't risk that," she said. "I'm not going to tell you."

Lucius shrugged. "Have it your way," he said. "We'll try something different." He looked at his wand. "As it happens, I've always thought calling these spells 'unforgivable' was a misnomer. I've cast each of them more times than I can count and I've never felt a compelling need to beg anyone's forgiveness for their use." He turned his icy gaze on her. "Especially not you." He then leveled his wand at her. " _Imperio._ "

A sense of warmth and well-being drifted into Ginny, a complete reversal of the Cruciatus. In fact, her pain was completely gone. She had never felt so comfortable or so free, completely exonerated of all responsibility. _Hold on,_ she thought, _How can I be free if I'm strapped down to a table? That can't be right..._ But really it was fine, being strapped down to the table didn't mean that she _couldn't_ move, but that she didn't _have_ to move; it was a fine distinction, but an important one. Ginny closed her eyes and relaxed.

"Open your eyes," Lucius said, his voice pleasant. 

Ginny's eyes opened. She tried to close them again voluntarily and found that she couldn't, nor did she really want to. Something was wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Why couldn't she close her eyes? She tried again. This time she was able to do it, but it was difficult.

"I said, open your eyes." 

Again her eyes flew open and she forgot why she had closed them. 

"Look at me."

Automatically, Ginny turned her head to the side to see Lucius over her, his wand pointed at her. _Wait,_ she thought, _Don't I hate him?_ Suddenly, everything came rushing back to her and she remembered she was under his Imperius Curse. She tried to turn away from him and found that she couldn't; she was exhausted and scared and he was too strong, just as his wife had warned her. _No,_ her brain insisted, _you_ must _refuse to give in to it; this is too important; you're strong too._

"Tell me now, who is your _Daily Prophet_ contact?"

 _Lee. Lee Jordan._ The name was poised on her tongue, but she caught herself just in time even as her mouth was forming the words. Although it was taking everything she had, Ginny was actually resisting Lucius' Imperius. The thought helped her marshal her will and she clamped her lips together. 

"Who has the pictures?" Whether it was because Lucius had increased his effort, or because Ginny was slipping, it was getting harder to throw off the curse. Every ounce of her willpower once again went into not speaking Lee's name out loud. Sweat was beading on her forehead from the effort and Ginny felt her hands start to shake. 

"Who is it?" Lucius asked, inexorable, but still with the same mild voice.

Colored spots started to edge onto Giny's vision as she felt the pressure of the curse on her brain warring with the compulsion to fight. She channeled all her strength into her own voice and finally answered him. "R-Rita. Rita Skeeter." 

Suddenly an ear-splitting screech rent the air. At the sound of the alarm, Lucius' head snapped up. He swore. "I have to go deal with this, but, to make sure that we can continue...Don't move from this table until I come back." 

With relief, she let the Imperius Curse wash back over her, once again basking in the feeling of complete freedom from having to take action, from having to make choices. Why shouldn't she stay? Now, that was all she could think about. _No, I need to go, to get away from...from..._ Something was nagging at her, a feeling that she wasn't supposed to be where she was. 

Ginny didn't know whether or not it was from losing blood earlier in the day or her near-euphoria, but she started to have what she could only perceive as an out-of-body experience. _Am I dying?_ she wondered. _Can an Imperius Curse kill me?_ It was almost as if she could see herself standing at the end of the table, staring down at her. Curiously, she stared at her doppelganger, who took out a wand. That's not my wand, she thought before the second Ginny cast, _"Finite incantatum."_

Her feeling of peace dissipated instantly and she felt every pain in her body. She groaned. 

The second Ginny cast again. _"Alohamora."_ The chains fell off and Ginny slowly sat up. The fact that it was real was more jarring than the idea of hallucinating because she was near death.

She saw a second figure materialize behind the other Ginny and upon recognizing him, Ginny launched herself at him like an angry cat. Draco caught her and clamped a hand down over her mouth. Ginny bit down.

Draco yelled and pulled his hand away. "Ouch, Ginny, that really hurt," he said.

"Not like torture does," she said. "I hope you die screaming, Malfoy."

Draco sighed and then turned to the other Ginny before speaking again, all while keeping Ginny pinned against his body. "We don't have time for this right now. Get rid of that diamond, Draco."

 _Draco?_ Ginny thought. The other Ginny moved towards her and moved the wand in her hand again, _"Exocorporia,"_ Ginny felt something move on her right side. Not pain, exactly, but just a funny feeling that something was working its way out. Whatever it was, she heard it hit the stone floor, something hard and small. 

Draco let Ginny go and grabbed the object, setting it on the next table. _"Expulso,"_ he said. With a bang, the Dementor's Diamond burst into hundreds of shards. The alarm shriek continued over top of them. 

The other Ginny spoke up. "We still have time, but not much. Father will ensure that everything is in order in the office before resetting the alarm." Draco, or whoever looked like Draco, moved back to the other Ginny's side. _"Endocorporia,"_ he said, his hand on her side.

Ginny stared. "Wait, _you're_ Draco?" she asked in wonder at this person she loathed, wearing her skin. She frowned once again. "You're a piece of shit for beating me up and using Crabbe and Goyle was cowardly. You're despicable. Vile."

The other Ginny looked at the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm hoping that this will make it up to you somewhat."

Ginny looked at the other person who wore the form of Draco. "Then you're..."

"Just a filthy little Mudblood," that Draco answered. 

Ginny let out a breath as she realized she was safe. "Hermione." Ginny looked at the real Draco, costumed in her body. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

Draco said nothing back. He hoisted himself up onto the table and suddenly Ginny understood: Draco was going to take her place. _Merlin, he must really be sorry,_ she thought with surprise. 

Hermione went over to where now Draco lay on the table. Ginny could see his (her) ribs moving rapidly underneath the hospital gown. Hermione tied down the arm and leg restraints. "Thanks, Draco," she said. 

"Sure," he muttered. 

"Remember Draco," Ginny told him, "you're under the Imperius curse. He cast it right before he left and told me not to move. He's already done Cruciatus and some others."

Hermione turned to her now. "Do you think you can walk?" she asked.

Ginny nodded. She turned to leave and the room suddenly spun. She would have fallen had strong hands not caught her and held her up. "I don't think so," she amended weakly. Hermione picked her up in a fireman's carry instead, over one shoulder and the last thing she saw before being carried out of the dungeon was her own scared face, upside down, bound in the dungeon.

CHAPTER 24: SACRIFICE

Much to Hermione's relief, the alarm continued. With Ginny's limp form slung over her shoulder, she raced up the steps. _Thank Merlin Draco actually_ is _strong and fast,_ she thought. His long legs took the steps easily even burdened with Ginny. At the top of the stairs she looked both ways. Nobody was coming and she could see the atrium to her left. 

Draco had told her that the Malfoy home was linked with the Floo network, but that it would shut down and remain down as long as the alarm remained active. She would have to wait, and then time it precisely, praying all the while that Lucius would not come her way before she could get Ginny out safely. Hermione raced through the atrium and into the library. The fireplace was at the far end. She rushed past high bookcases and statuary. She paused for a brief moment at the now-eerily familiar suit of dragon-scale armor and matching helm. She shivered as she beheld it. Portraits of long-dead Malfoys and Blacks looked down at her curiously. 

She remembered herself. "Mind your own business, you lot," she said in her, or Draco's, most conceited voice. She sat Ginny carefully down and slapped her face gently. Ginny opened her eyes and looked at her. "You're going to St. Mungo's again, all right?" she said. Ginny nodded. She crawled into the fireplace. Hermione held out the Floo powder. Ginny took a handful. "Wait for it," Hermione told her.

Ginny waited, her hand poised over the floor. The alarm shrieked for what seemed like an eternity. Ginny's hand started to shake. Hermione felt cold sweat drip between her shoulder blades, her eyes riveted on the door behind them. Suddenly, the alarm cut off. Hermione's ears rang in the silence. "Now," she said.

"St. Mungo's hospital," Ginny said, dropping the Floo powder to the floor.

In a flash of green fire, Ginny disappeared. Hermione sank to the floor and sat for just a moment, grateful for the most of important part of the plan working. That part was over. Whatever else happened, Ginny was safe. After taking a minute to collect herself, Hermione stood up and dusted off her hands on Draco's pajama pants. Now came what might be the trickiest part yet; to free Draco before he changed back into himself. Hermione's next two goals were to maintain Draco's cover and to get out safely herself. She took a deep breath. _I'm Draco Malfoy,_ she said to herself. She pulled her shoulders back. _I'm Draco Malfoy._ She tilted her head up. _I'm Draco Malfoy._ She took out her wand.

"Draco, what are you doing in here?"

Hermione turned at the sound of Lucius' voice, her heart beating faster. This was the first time they had spoken since she had confronted him with the pictures. "Trying to find the intruder, father," she answered, attempting to sound calm.

Lucius walked over to her slowly. He glanced at her drawn wand and suspicion flashed in his eyes. _He knows,_ Hermione thought, _dammit, Draco, he's your father; how do you not know that he notices everything?_

"Probably wise," Lucius said, face now registering nothing. Hermione let out a breath. Lucius held out the mechanical bird. "Have you seen this before?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. 

"Now I shall have to have someone from Gringott's call tomorrow to repair the alarm system. Vexing."

He turned and strode towards the door.

Hermione swallowed. Whether Lucius knew or not, it was time to toss the dice; she had no other choices at this point.

"Father?" she called.

Lucius stopped at the threshold. "Yes?" he said without turning around.

"I would like you to trust me once more," she said, looking at the floor. In her meeting with Draco, he had filled her in enough so that she knew he was never supposed to get caught after beating up Ginny, and that his father was furious with him. 

Lucius turned to her. "That has to be earned, Draco," he answered. "I never give my trust lightly, especially to those who have broken it.

"Just give me another chance, please, father," Hermione said. "I don't know what happened between the two of you--" Lucius looked as if he was going to say something, but Hermione rushed on, "And I don't need to, but I know you have Weasley in the dungeon, and I just want a chance to make it right, whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes?" Lucius echoed. "Can you kill her, Draco? Can you take the life of one of your classmates or anyone else for that matter? Because surely you must realize that's what I'm going to ask you to do."

Hermione's stomach dropped. Dumbledore was wrong; Lucius was every bit as unrepentant as Hermione had imagined. That, or he was well aware that she was not Draco and he was testing her. She hesitated, playing for time. "But that would send me to Azkaban. Surely you don't want that, father." 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Is that what concerns you? I knew you didn't have the fortitude for this sort of work, Draco."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I did beat her, father, and I would have cast the Killing Curse, had you let me."

"As I taught you?" 

"Yes," Hermione answered, uncertain if she was now lying to Lucius or not. 

Once again Lucius' eyes flashed with suspicion and Hermione didn't like it one bit. _He definitely knows,_ she thought, but there was nothing for her to do but press on, so long as the Polyjuice held. "One more chance, father, that's all I ask."

Lucius paused a moment. He took another look at her wand and smiled slightly. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?" he asked.

Hermione now felt the sweat gluing her shirt to her back and prayed that Lucius wouldn't notice that too. She pulled her face into a look of mild confusion. "Like what?" she asked.

Lucius shrugged, his eyes still on her wand. "Nothing you might want to get off your chest?"

"No, father." 

Lucius looked at her now, sizing her up. "Follow me then, _Draco,_ " he finally said and Hermione heard his ironic emphasis on his son's name loud and clear. As requested, Hermione followed him. _This is the part where he plays with me,_ she thought, _and it could be a deadly game._

They walked back through the atrium, pretty much exactly the way Hermione had come, back towards the dungeon. They descended the stairs and approached the table. Lucius pointed his wand at Draco. _"Finite incantatum,"_ he said, to break the Imperius Curse he thought was still there. Although it had done nothing, Draco groaned, just as Ginny had done.

Hermione pointed her wand at Draco. Her plan was to purposely fail at casting the Killing Curse Lucius was expecting her to cast. This would force Lucius either to cast it himself, or it would call his bluff and have him release Ginny back to St. Mungo's. If Lucius did cast Avada Kedavra, like the Finite, it would do nothing, but at least convince him that Ginny was dead. At that point, Hermione could volunteer to get rid of the body, which would mean getting Draco back to his room and then leaving herself. Of course, this was the less optimal of the two options, as it had way too many variables. Even as Hermione conceived it, she knew it was far-fetched, without question her flimsiest plan of the night. 

"Wait just a moment," Lucius said, placing his hand over Hermione's and lowering it. Hermione's heart sped up. 

"What is it, father?" Hermione asked nervously. Lucius walked over to the table where the instruments lay and Hermione followed him. He picked out one of the many knives and a piece of blank parchment. He held the knife up to the parchment and drew it down swiftly. The parchment parted with nary a whisper and Lucius let the two halves flutter to the floor between them, his eyes locked on hers. He offered the knife to Hermione, hilt first. As she looked at it, Hermione realized it as the same knife that had spilled the last Silver Dragon's blood. A chill went down her spine. 

"Wh-what am I supposed to do with that?" Nothing in her plan had made an allowance for physical threat, only magical. _Merlin, I should have realized,_ she thought, her midsection knotting with dread.

"What you stated so confidently just moments ago that you would have no difficulty doing: ending what you started."

"I'm not going to use my wand?" Hermione asked. Her voice came out higher than she had intended. "I'm going to kill her like a Muggle?" 

"You've never killed anyone before, Draco, and you can't start with the Killing Curse," Lucius said.

"Why not?"

Lucius took a step towards her and lowered his voice. "The first time you take the life of another, you need to carry out the deed with your hands, not your wand. If you skip that, you will never have an appreciation of the power of ending human life. The Killing Curse, as convenient, merciful and clean as it is, creates detachment and ease that have no place in this, your first act of slaughter. Unless you spill her life's blood with your own hand, you're not going to understand what it means to kill. Moreover, failing in this task shall make casting the Killing Curse much more difficult, if not impossible, in the future." 

Hermione stared at the black knife hilt. She wondered if he was lying about the Killing Curse or once again, was simply playing with her. His line of reasoning seemed legitimate, however. Hermione slowly put her wand in the back pocket of Draco's pajamas. Willing her hand not to shake, she took the knife from Lucius. It was heavier than she expected, not just because it was faultlessly forged, but also because it seemed weighed down by fate and centuries of Malfoy history. Hermione knew that the weapon had power, but was unsure as to what. All she knew for sure was that it had no place in her hands and as it switched from Lucius' hand to hers, the hilt turned from black to a opalescent white. Hermione had no idea what that meant; perhaps it had changed color because she had never killed anyone and Lucius had. 

Lucius had noticed the knife hilt as well and although he didn't say anything, he half smiled for just a moment, but said nothing. Hermione noticed that he was out of her reach as well. Not that she would have turned it on him, if nothing else, murdering his father would be a terrible way to repay Draco for his part in the evening. Still, it was a smart move on Lucius' part and solidified in Hermione's mind that he knew she was not Draco. Lucius raised an eyebrow, waiting for her. 

Hermione slowly approached the table where Draco struggled against his bonds. She placed the point of the knife just under the right side of his jaw. The light from the torches caught the blade and threw angled reflections onto his skin, illuminating the V-shape of his jugular veins. Draco's chest rose and fell rapidly and Hermione was not completely sure that his fear was feigned. _Does he really think I'm going to kill him?_ Hermione thought, _Strange._

"What are you waiting for, Draco?" Lucius asked, softly. "End it."

Hermione wrapped her other hand around the hilt and squeezed her eyes tight. After a few seconds, she dropped the knife away from Draco's neck. "I'm sorry, father, I can't," she said, opening her eyes. She brought the knife away and let it hang next to her, loosely in her right hand. 

Lucius glared at her. "So, I have to clean up your mess once again?" he asked. 

Hermione said nothing, just stared at the wet flagstones of the dungeon floor, the picture of ashamed contrition, or so she hoped. This was it: Hermione had given Lucius the perfect opportunity to cast his Avada Kedavra.

"Would you like to see it done?" Lucius asked.

Hermione looked up, relieved that Lucius seemed to be taking the bait, but let her brows knit in apparent confusion. "What? The Killing Curse?"

Lucius sighed impatiently. He moved in quickly and grabbed the knife from Hemione's hand. Immediately, the hilt turned black once again. He took one second to re-grip it into his right hand and then raised it across his body and brought it down efficiently, skillfully, and fatally at Draco's exposed throat.

"NO!" Hermione screamed. For some reason, the thought of Lucius' tender look to Draco in the foyer of Hogwarts popped into her mind and then she reacted before she could think, diving in front of Lucius and shooting her left arm, palm up, between the razor-sharp blade and Draco's neck. The knife sliced neatly through the inside of her upper arm, so sharp that it didn't even hurt. In the instant that the knife touched her skin, there was an explosion of blinding white light. Before she had a chance to panic, the white light solidified and poured into the wound, the explosion now in reverse. Hermione watched, frozen in place, as it slowly closed, taking the light with it, but leaving an iridescent silver line on her skin.

Before Hermione could stand, Lucius grabbed one of her wrists and forced it behind her. She went to her knees and then down to the floor, face down. Lucius followed her down, still holding her and drove a knee into her rib cage, pinning her, like the police on that cop show her parents liked to watch on television. "You're not Draco," he said conversationally. 

Hermione said nothing, but tilted her head to the side so she could see the room and so that she could breathe. Lucius kept his knee lodged in her side, not hurting her, but keeping her immobile. 

"Are you aware of when you slipped up?" Lucius asked. 

Hermione still said nothing. None of this had been planned and she had no idea what to do. 

"First," Lucius took her wand out of Draco's back pocket and held it in front of Hermione's face. " _This_ is not Draco's wand, and I'll be holding onto it for you for the time being." He looked at the wand for just a moment before making it disappear. Hermione cursed Draco inwardly once again. Lucius continued, "Second, when you said I taught you the Killing Curse, I never taught that to Draco, for the reasons I just explained. Third, there is no way that Draco would dive between a blade and anyone, especially not a Weasley. He's neither that brave, nor is he that stupid, and he hates that family of low-class blood traitors almost as much as I do." 

Lucius paused. "That really was foolish, you know. It was _never_ my intention to kill Miss Weasley; if I did, as others have pointed out to me this evening, and as I myself have known all along, Draco would go to Azkaban, which has also never been my intention. I was going to send her back to St. Mungo's when I was through with her, fully healed, although under an Imperius Curse to maintain her silence, her lesson learned. All you would have had to do is wait a few seconds and, whoever you are, you would have forced me to show my hand as you watched me pull my killing blow. Fourth," Now he showed her the knife, which slowly dripped her blood onto the damp floor. "This particular artifact simply does not lie: black for Malfoy; white for everyone else. Last, obviously, is whatever that protective spell was. So tell me, who are you really?"

There was no point in lying to him. Hermione could already feel the Polyjuice starting to wear off. "The Muggle-born Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you sadistic bully," she said.

"Miss Granger," Lucius said, his voice icy. "I should have known." Hermione's spine contracted, her body changed from male back to female, and her hair grew, as the Polyjuice wore off. The plan was blown, but at least Ginny was safe. That alone was worth whatever might come next. Lucius took his knee out of her side and pulled her to her feet before releasing her. "Where's Draco?" he asked. "The real Draco, that is."

Hermione folded her arms in front of her and jerked her chin in the direction of the table where Draco lay. Lucius turned quickly.

"You're the foolish one, father," Draco said, his transformation now complete. "It wasn't Ginny Weasley you almost killed just now, it was me. Shall I tell mother?" Hermione almost smiled at that.

"You?" Lucius breathed. Hermione saw a flurry of emotions make their way across his face: incredulity, fear, and finally anger. He turned back to Hermione. "I must admit, I'm not precisely sure what to do with you."

"There are a few things you need to know before you make any decisions on that front," Hermione said.

"What do I need to know?"

"You spoke of a protective spell. If you were wondering why your 'artifact' didn't cut my arm off, it's because I'm under your hospitality."

Lucius smiled coldly. "I can promise that you're not. I've never cast _that_ spell and I certainly don't plan on starting now."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "A pureblood wizard who's _never_ cast Hospitality? That's appallingly rude, you know...but as a Muggle-born, I suppose it's not my place to judge."

Lucius at least had the grace to look embarrassed, and it made Hermione like him infinitesimally better. "I like to think of it as being careful, Miss Granger."

Draco spoke up again. "I cast it. Stop acting like you're the only Malfoy living here." 

" _You_ cast it?"

"Yes. So whatever else you may want to do with her, you can't hurt her, not in this house, not tonight."

Lucius walked over to Draco and looked down at him. He pointed his wand at Draco. Draco flinched. " _Alohamora,_ " Lucius said. Nothing happened. 

"And no spells of yours will work on Draco," Hermione said. 

"What does she mean, Draco?" Lucius asked. 

"Your Dementor's Diamond," Hermione answered for Draco, "But this time with someone else's blood, not yours." 

Lucius smiled and shook his head. He looked back at her. "Well played," he said. "Yours?"

"Maybe," Hermione answered. "Maybe not. The only way to find out for sure is to give me back my wand."

"Nice try," Lucius said. 

"Well then, can you please let him out? I'm sure you can do it without magic..."

"Not just yet," Lucius answered. He turned back to Draco. "Where is it?"

"I'm not going to tell you," Draco said, lifting his chin. 

"I've worn Dementor's Diamonds. I know how hard it is not to cast magic after years of taking it for granted," Lucius said, his voice quiet. "You _do_ want it out, don't you, Draco?"

"Yes," Draco muttered.

"Then you're going to tell me," Lucius continued. "You're refusing me right now solely for the purposes of being difficult, and I will get that diamond out of you one way or another, but it will be much faster if you admit where it is. We both know this, so why delay? And thanks to your meddling, because I can't extract it with an easy, painless spell, we're going to have to do it the old-fashioned, _Muggle_ way. Consider this as well, Draco: if you don't tell me, I'm going to have to guess. You're not going to enjoy that very much."

Draco's eyes flicked to Hermione and then back to Lucius once again. "Can't you just give her wand back to her?"

"With your loyalty to our family hanging by such a fine thread, is that truly what you want me to do, Draco?" Lucius asked dangerously.

"You didn't show _me_ much loyalty back at Hogwarts, when I did my best to obey you, without asking why," Draco said through a clenched jaw, "But fine, you win. You always win, don't you, father? It's on my left side, under the rib cage."

"You've made the right choice," Lucius said. 

"No," Hermione said, holding her hands up. "Please don't do this. I'm the one who put the item on him; I can be the one to take it back out. Give me my wand. I'll cast the spell and then I'll give you my wand back, if that what it takes. Please." 

Lucius looked at her, amused. "I'm gratified to see you're finally starting to understand your responsibility in this, Miss Granger." He put his wand away, went over to a cabinet and got out a few items, placing them on the table next to Draco. "It really is most noble of you." He opened up a syringe and hypodermic needle from a sterile package. He took out a vial and punched the needle through the top, drawing up into the syringe. "But Draco's already told me he does not wish for me to give you your wand back, so consider yourself out-voted two to one."

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked. 

"What needs to be done," Lucius answered simply. He tossed her the empty vial.

She caught the vial and turned it over. "Lidocaine 2%," she read out loud. "This is a Muggle anesthetic." It was very familiar to her as it was one of the local anesthetics her parents used in their dental practice. _Why in Merlin's name does Lucius have it?_ Hermione wondered. 

"You may be clever, Miss Granger, but you don't listen very well, do you? I told you I was going to have to get it out the Muggle way, and barbaric as that may seem, I see no reason to cause my son any undue distress. That seems to be _your_ job tonight." Lucius lifted the hospital gown and palpated gently with his fingers just below Draco's ribs. "Bend your knees, Draco," he instructed, "It will relax your abdominal wall and make this easier on both of us." Draco did as he was told. Finding what he was looking for, Lucius nodded. He took out gauze and iodine and cleaned the site. Iodine dripped down onto the steel table, looking like blood in the torchlight. 

Despite what both Lucius and Draco had said, Hermione couldn't let it happen. Lucius was right: if nothing else, she was responsible for the diamond. Now, in removing the diamond surgically, he was trying to prove a point both to her and to Draco, and in true Lucius Malfoy fashion, he was going to do it by drawing blood, which was not acceptable to Hermione. She knew what to do, she just hoped she had the strength still to do it after the huge amount of casting she had already done that night. Hermione took a deep breath, willing herself to calm. She closed her eyes and took another breath, in through her nose, and then let it out through her mouth, counting to three. She did it again. And again. She opened her eyes and looked at Lucius appraisingly.

Lucius looked back at her and then did a double take, seemingly finding her behavior odd enough to stop what he was doing with Draco and take up his wand once again, which is exactly what Hermione wanted. "What are you doing?" Lucius asked.

"Be quiet please; I really need to concentrate," Hermione said, closing her eyes once again, fixing the image of Lucius with his wand drawn in her mind.

She took one more deliberate breath, feeling her heart slow down and clarity come to her. She opened her eyes. Lucius was looking at her, curious. Hermione slowly raised her right arm in front of her body, palm up. She only had one chance. _Don't think about it, just do it._ She channeled all her energy into her right hand. _"Expelliarmus!"_ she shouted, quickly shooting her hand forward. 

Instantly, Lucius' wand jumped from his hand into her outstretched one. He stared at her in shock. Hermione smiled triumphantly, but felt dizzy. She didn't know how much more will she had to cast before resting and each spell was starting to cost her. Luckily, the next two spells were easy ones, and Lucius' wand felt disturbingly right in her hand; it was a wand as powerful and assertive as he was. She looked at it for a moment. No wonder he was so confident. Hermione gathered herself once again and pointed Lucius' wand at Draco. " _Exocorporia,_ " she said for the last time. The Dementor's Diamond popped out of Draco's disinfected side and fell with a clunk on the metal table. " _Expulso._ " She now pointed Lucius wand at Draco. " _Alohamora._ " The shackles fell off and Draco sat up, massaging his wrists.

Lucius watched her work, his eyes following his wand now in her hands. "That was a bold move, Miss Granger. Tell me if you would--I realize I am now very much at your mercy--where the real Miss Weasley is." 

"Safe," Hermione answered, keeping his wand up and pointed at him. "That's all you need to know. And if we're finished here, I'll just be leaving as well."

"Oh, surely you can stay for a little while, Miss Granger," Lucius said, turning from her to clean up the table that Draco had now vacated, annoyingly unruffled over the fact that he was now disarmed. "We at least need to talk about how you put Draco in harm's way."

Hermione glared at him. "Or how I just--"

"Saved me," Draco cut her off, his voice sharp with anger. "She couldn't have possibly known you were going to pull your killing blow, father, but she stopped it anyway, at great risk to herself. She knew it was me, not Ginny, lying there and she still did it, even though she doesn't even like me very much and probably hates you. Are you so devoid of humanity that you don't realize what she just did for both of us?" Draco looked down. "Father, I know you blame her for putting me in danger, but I did it myself, voluntarily. I take full responsibility."

"This was all your idea, then?" Lucius asked, gesturing to the table and the fragments of the diamond that remained.

"No," Draco muttered, looking at the floor still. "But just as you realized the diamond needed to come out by any means necessary, I recognized this mission as something that had to be done, so I did it." No one spoke. Draco looked at Hermione. "I'm going to get your stuff," he said. He made his way from where they had come from, back into the tunnel. 

Hermione looked back at Lucius. "Well?" she snapped impatiently. 

Lucius sighed. He rubbed his forehead with one hand, looking for a moment as exhausted as Hermione herself felt. "Very well, Miss Granger, I concede this round. You and Draco win. Now, come upstairs," he said. "Please."

"Are you going to play nicely?" Hermione asked. She lowered his wand. 

Lucius turned, wiped the knife off with a towel and put it aside. Hermione's blood had gone all over his neck and his hands, probably on his clothes too, un-noticeable on the black, but still perhaps that was why it was his chosen color. He faced her again. "It seems that I don't have a choice, doesn't it?"

"Well, two of the encounters we've had so far have ended up with both of us covered with my blood, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't trust you." 

"Be that as it may, I'd like to speak to you," Lucius said. "If you would consent to stay." 

Hermione smiled, but it was bitter. "Consent?"

Lucius nodded, returning her smile. "You have yet to refuse that to me, don't you?"

"Well," Hermione said, sighing, "why start now?"

"Why indeed?"

She crossed around him, and then walked up the stairs. She climbed slowly out of the dungeon, shivering, her teeth chattering. The front of Draco's shirt was a collage of blood, dirt, and water. Hermione stood, dripping on the black marble floor of the great hall, awkwardly holding the waistband of Draco's trousers with one hand as they were now too big. 

Lucius smirked at her. "That would be easier if you'd relinquish my wand," he said. "Besides, with you under my admittedly unwilling Hospitality, it's not as if I can use it for harm."

She tilted her chin up and stared at him down her nose. "Nice try," she said coldly, disappointed that he was acting so flippant about the fact that she had his wand. Hermione straightened her spine. After a few moments, Draco followed them up the cellar stairs, carrying the bundle of Hermione's clothes. He handed them to her carefully, as if he was afraid of her. "Does this hovel have a shower?" she asked. "With hot water?"

"Heated by dragons, Miss Granger," Lucius answered. 

Hermione gave him a dirty look, although she wasn't completely sure he was joking. "Perfect," she said. She turned her attention to Draco. "Your room?" Draco nodded.

The two of them walked back to Draco's room. Hermione slipped into his bathroom while Draco waited outside in his bedroom. Hermione peeled off Draco's wet things. She stepped carefully under the hot water, letting its incredible pressure and warmth wash the entire night from her. _Heated by dragons, Miss Granger._ Hermione had to smile. Draco's bathroom was entirely tiled in malachite, with silver fixtures, Slytherin colors, the spoiled little monster. Hermione luxuriated under the hot water. _Let them wait,_ she thought. _And wait...and wait...I'm never getting out._ While washing, she examined her left arm. A long, perfectly straight scar had formed on her inner arm where the knife and the hospitality spell had battled. Instead of pink, it was silver and white, iridescent. She poked at it experimentally. It was numb. Hermione wondered if she would have it forever. She suspected she probably would. 

She took another minute to assess her other injuries. Now that she was out of immediate danger and her sympathetic nervous system wasn't in overdrive, she was starting to feel every insult that had been inflicted on her body that night. The most immediate problem was where she had cut her face running from the manticore. Every time she thought the lacerations were done bleeding, one of them would start back up. Hermione realized she would need actual healing, which was inconvenient in her current situation. Next, her entire left side was starting to bruise and swell, and it hurt to breathe deeply. She knew that was from when the manticore had knocked her down. Hermione was pretty sure she had fallen on rocks. It definitely wasn't from Lucius, as he had taken her down on the right side and hadn't been _that_ rough with her. Everything else was minor, scrapes from running through the woods, all superficial, all able to be healed through the tincture of time.

After her body temperature had returned to normal, Hermione stepped out, toweled off, and dressed quickly, back into her black cat burglar outfit, which she noted appreciatively, was now clean, thanks no doubt to the Malfoy house elves. Once dressed, she exited the bathroom and found Draco.

He stared at her awkwardly. "Thanks, Hermione," he muttered, staring at the floor.

"For what?"

"For taking the blade for me," he said, meeting her eyes. "That was...more than I would have expected given our history."

"You would have done the same," she said, but it was a platitude and they both knew it.

"No." Draco shook his head. "My father's right. I wouldn't." 

Hermione felt sad to hear the emptiness in his voice. She wondered what he would have been like with a different upbringing. She frowned. "No, he's not, Draco. You did save my life. Were it not for your hospitality spell, I would have died, or at least been badly injured."

Draco sighed. "I only cast it because you asked. I wouldn't have done it on my own. I wouldn't even have thought about it."

"But you agreed to it and, more importantly, it held," she said softly. "I don't know what power that knife holds, but it does have some sort of Dark Arts in it and yet your spell still held fast against it, as you promised as--what was it? A man and a Malfoy. Also, you became Ginny Weasley and subjected yourself to whatever your father would have meted out. That was actually the only part of the plan that went flawlessly and, let's be honest, one of the only parts he did not see coming."

Draco smiled, a small, haunted smile. "No, he sure didn't." 

"That took a lot of bravery, faith, and trust." Draco looked away. "Really and truly. Thank you." 

"You're welcome," he said, looking at her once again. "For what it's worth, he also didn't think you'd disarm him without a wand."

Hermione frowned. "If I'm honest, I had no idea whether or not it was going to work. It was my will against his, which as you know is strong in its own right. The spell was subsequently quite draining, but as you saw, it did work." She looked away. "It had to work. There wasn't another choice." 

As Hermione spoke, it dawned on her that at any moment after she had disarmed Lucius, he could have drawn her own wand on her and gotten the upper hand or at least put them back on level footing, and yet he hadn't. She deflated a little as she realized that Lucius had essentially let her win, which meant that doing so somehow fit his agenda and explained his nonchalance. The light, satisfied feeling she had from her relaxing shower evaporated as she realized she now faced the arduous task of finding out why.

"Well, it was impressive in any case," Draco said. "There, I said it. Now, I think you have an appointment."

Hermione sighed. "That I suppose I do," she said. 

Draco held the door for her. "Shall we?" he said.

As Hermione passed through the door, Draco stopped her. "Hey," he said.

"Yes?"

Draco licked his lips and glanced around. "Look, he's almost never nice, all right? Any time you think he's being kind, he's fooling you. He's manipulating you into doing what he wants you to do. You outsmarted him tonight. While he may respect you for standing up to him, he'll still resent the fact that you outfoxed him, especially because you're a Mud--" Draco stopped himself. "You're not like him...like _us_. So, he's going to try and make peace, but it's all a ploy to keep an eye on you so you don't ever catch him off guard again. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Try and remember that."

Hermione nodded. "All right." Taking a deep breath, Hermione squared her shoulders and walked out of Draco's room, facing what she prayed would be her last trial of the night in the Malfoy household.


	8. 25: Parley; 26: Invitation; 27: Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Lucius have a long but important conversation at the conclusion of which Lucius makes Hermione a tantalizing offer. Lucius receives an invitation from Dumbledore, one Lucius looks to turn to his own advantage. Draco finds that finally freeing himself is bittersweet.
> 
> _"You're complicating it when it's actually quite simple. Would you like to hear me say it?" Lucius asked._
> 
> _"Yes," Hermione whispered._
> 
> _"I want you," he said. "And what's more, you want me too." Lucius moved his other hand to her knee and ran it slowly up her thigh. As he did, all the muscles in Hermione's pelvic floor tightened. He kissed her neck lightly, where her pulse jumped. "You may as well admit that you enjoyed it last time, and the best part is, I was barely even trying then. You can't even imagine what it's like when I do."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One loooong chapter and two short ones. Poor Hermione. So much denial. And it only gets worse. Muahahaha!!! Thank you, as always for reading, for your kudos (100! Yay!) and your kind words.

CHAPTER 25: PARLEY

Draco led Hermione back to the main hall. She stared at her feet as she walked, noticing that each of her footsteps created ripples in the black marble floor, making the white veins tremble and then re-form. "Neat floor," she remarked. 

Draco shrugged. "I guess," he said. Like the security system, clearly the magic floor was just another aspect of the Malfoy household that Draco took for granted. 

It was dark still, but through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Hermione could see the eastern sky starting to turn gray. She yawned. She didn't want to do this now. It had been a long day followed by a long night, followed by another long day and now into _another_ long night, and even though dawn was approaching, it wasn't even over yet. Hermione found it incredible that her first meeting with Narcissa Malfoy had happened not even 36 hours prior; it seemed like an eternity ago. Now, if Lucius had told Hermione he was going to keep her wand forever, but he would allow her eight hours of uninterrupted sleep right then and there, she would have found it difficult to make a decision. But that was the problem: he essentially was holding her wand hostage, and also he was probably just fine with her usually keen mind being compromised from exhaustion as he spoke to her. 

A golden glow emanated from one of the rooms on the opposite side of the hall. Hermione and Draco walked over. A fire was going in a small sitting room. Lucius met them at the door. Two Irish wolfhounds flanked him like bodyguards. "Come in, Miss Granger. I'll be with you momentarily." He moved aside for her and Hermione drifted into the room. A brocade couch sat in front of the fire, bracketed on three sides by polished black tables. The room was lined with bookshelves as well. 

The dogs followed Hermione into the room, interested in a new person as Lucius spoke to Draco. One of the dogs nuzzled at her hand and Hermione pet it until the other began to whine and butt its nose up against her other hand. Hermione smiled and gave it some attention as well, taking a knee to get down to the dogs' level. They both looked at her with liquid black eyes, all instant trust and eagerness, licking her hands on occasion. All the while, she attempted to hear what Lucius and Draco were saying to each other. 

She couldn't make out the words, but she heard Draco protest and Lucius insist. "I'll deal with you tomorrow," Lucius said coldly. "You are on thin ice, Draco." Lucius then addressed the dogs, "Primus, Secundus, come," he commanded. The two dogs looked at him, but didn't move from Hermione's side. "Come," Lucius said again, more sternly. Hermione's smile turned into a grin at the fact that Lucius had vaguely disobedient, un-originally named dogs. Finally, and with the sort of dramatic regret only dogs are capable of, they left her side and returned to their master. 

"Take them out, if you would," Lucius said to Draco.

"See you around, Granger," Draco said. He walked back down the hallway, the dogs trotting after him.

"See you," she said to his retreating back. She then stood and folded her hands in front of her, waiting. 

Lucius closed the door. He looked at Hermione, mildly amused. "You may as well sit," he said. Hermione walked over to the couch and sat down on one end. Lucius went over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. "Would you like something?" he asked.

"No thank you," Hermione said. The entire enterprise had a surreality about it, this careful politeness, as if they were two opposing forces meeting in a demilitarized zone, except that Hermione was still very much on Malfoy turf. At least she had found the friendly Malfoy pets in addition to the lethal ones. "Nice dogs," she said sincerely.

Lucius came over to the couch and sat down on the opposite end. He looked at her and smiled. "Let's not waste time, Miss Granger. Tell me, if you would, however did you break in?"

Hermione returned his smile. "Still no foreplay from you?" She wasn't usually this insolent, but Merlin help her if Lucius didn't bring it out, whether she willed it or not. _Or am I actually flirting with him?_ she wondered. It was a disturbing thought. 

Lucius' smile didn't waver. "If my memory serves, cutting to the chase and making it simply about business is what you prefer. Isn't that right?" 

Hermione didn't say anything, both annoyed and pleased that Lucius could rise to the challenge.

"Anyway," Lucius said after a heartbeat, "How did you do it?" 

"What makes you think I would tell you that?" Hermione said.

"Your inherent decency, of course," Lucius answered. "My estate is well-warded, or so I thought up until the events of tonight. My only priority is the protection of my family; thus, any security breaches warrant my prompt attention."

Hermione nodded. "A fair point and I can empathize, but I'm still not going to tell you. You've done nothing to prove you're worthy of that information." 

Lucius reached behind himself and took her wand in his hand from where he had set it down on one of the end tables. Without another word, he turned it around in his hand and offered it back to her. Hermione slowly took it. She had not been expecting it to be that easy.

"How about now?" he asked her. 

Hermione set her jaw. She really didn't want to tell him as she couldn't shake the idea that revealing her scheme made her vulnerable to him. Her mind made up, she took Lucius' wand out and offered it back to him, smiling politely as he took it from her outstretched hand. "No," she said, once he had taken it back. "Now we only have what belongs to us, nothing more." 

Lucius looked irritated for a moment, before giving up. "Without specifics, then, because you're opting to act stubborn, who helped you with tonight's plan?" he asked. "Aside from Draco, that is...It was Dumbledore, wasn't it?" He said Dumbledore's name like a curse word.

Hermione shook her head. "It should interest you to know, Professor Dumbledore expressly forbade me from interfering any further. He said it was critically important that I stay out of it and that the situation had already risked far too much."

Lucius looked uneasy for just a moment, before adopting his typical attitude of scorn where the Headmaster was concerned. "But you didn't listen to him?" he said finally. "You probably thought he was being a trusting fool, which he is." 

"I must admit, I found his faith in you off-putting. He was absolutely convinced that you wouldn't kill Ginny. After what you had said both the night I confronted you with the pictures and in the note that followed with the real silver dragon blood, what your wife had said, and what Professor Snape had said, I couldn't count on it. And so the plan was born, without Professor Dumbledore's consent or knowledge."

Lucius smirked. "As most plans by all rights should be." 

Hermione changed the subject. "Why didn't you call my bluff sooner when you realized that I wasn't Draco?"

"I wanted to see what you would do. As Draco, your hints that you were intending to have me cast the Killing Curse were suspiciously strong, so I made a different choice. However, I can see why that would be your prediction for my next action. Prior to Azkaban, I wouldn't have dreamed of killing someone any other way, magical or Muggle." He stared into the fire for a time, his eyes distant. "However, I learned two lessons in Azkaban. First, that a sharp blade is just as good as a wand for ending life, albeit messier." 

"Whom did you kill?" Hermione asked, before she could stop herself.

Lucius looked at her. "Allegedly, no one."

Hermione sighed. "Why bring it up if you don't want to talk about it?" she muttered. 

"To bring me to the second lesson I learned in Azkaban, which is that survival relies on unpredictability and the ability to slide from underneath your enemies' assumptions."

Hermione smiled. "Like I've slid from underneath yours?"

Lucius returned her smile. "To some extent, yes. But I wouldn't necessarily brag about it, Miss Granger. I did catch you. And here we are."

Hermione scowled at him. "I think you can afford to give me just a little bit more credit than that."

Lucius continued to look amused. "I can afford all manner of things, but do you truly need my validation now?"

It was a good point. "No," Hermione answered, "but you should know that I _did_ get from the outside of your estate to the inside of your estate without being detecting _and_ without Draco's help. I then extracted Ginny, also without you knowing about it until she was safely away. Then I stopped you from cutting Draco's throat, or I thought I did." She shook her head. "I still can't believe you did that. Whether you pulled back at the last second or not, it was still a huge risk for you to take." 

Lucius sighed in annoyance. "Well, obviously I wouldn't have done it at all if I had known it was Draco." He gave Hermione a side eye. "I suppose you think that I owe you now, don't you?" he said.

"Was that a 'thank you?'" Hermione asked scorfully. "It was terrible." 

"You didn't answer my question."

Hermione rubbed her forehead with one hand. "I didn't do it to place you in my debt. Despite what you may think, not everything is a transaction, even between the two of us. I did it because it was the right thing to do, end of story." Hermione dropped her hand. "Draco had a choice of whether or not to participate in this evening's adventure, but I can own that he would not have subjected himself to your mercy if I hadn't put him in the position to do so. So yes, I bear some responsibility for putting him in harm's way. If you think that you owe me for throwing myself between your knife and his throat, well...I think it's fair to say you at least owe me my life and safety."

"Both of which are things you are currently enjoying," Lucius countered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because of Draco's hospitality spell, not because you're some sort of bastion of virtue or even someone burdened by a sense of fair play."

"Yes, Draco's hospitality spell did and is still keeping you from harm until such time as you cross back over the threshold of Malfoy property. However, you should know that if Draco had gotten injured or killed because of your actions tonight, I would have found a way to take my revenge. Invoking or bestowing the Right of Hospitality is not infallible: as an example, if I were to cast the Imperius Curse and ask you to leave and then come back onto the property, that would lift it, _pro re nata_." He dropped his voice low. "No one gets away with harming my family."

Hermione felt chilled by the pitiless way he looked at her. In that moment, it dawned on her that perhaps this fierce and deadly protection was what had precipitated Buckbeak's trial in Third Year. At the time, she had thought that Lucius was throwing the weight of the Malfoy name around, in a move fueled by cruelty and power, not love. In fact, up until this moment, Hermione truly had never considered it from Lucius' point of view: provoked or not, a dangerous, out-of-control magical beast had attempted to harm and possibly kill his beloved son. It was no wonder then that Lucius had asked for Buckbeak's head literally, and for Hagrid's head figuratively. Hermione squirmed. She didn't want to empathize with Lucius in any respect, but that was what she suddenly found herself doing. "I _didn't_ let you do it; that's the whole point," she finally said. 

"No, you didn't; as Draco said, you believed that you stayed my hand," Lucius said quietly. "But I agree, you also put Draco in a perilous position."

Hermione put her head on the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "You forget, you didn't have to come close to cutting anyone's throat. You were actually the one who put him in the most danger by violently going after what you perceived to be Ginny." She looked back at Lucius. "Not only are you not taking responsibility for _your_ part in all of this, but you're not giving Draco enough credit. Aside from saving me, he also seemed to think that saving Ginny was the right thing to do. Granted, he did it to save his own rear end as he knew there would be severe consequences for him if she were to die or disappear. He also was willing to cast the spell that you admit never having cast. I pointed it out to him because he didn't seem to realize that in doing so he likely saved my life. You wielded the weapon; wouldn't you agree?"

Lucius sighed. "Show me your arm and I'll tell you," he said. Hermione pulled up her sleeve, exposing her strange scar. Lucius leaned over to see. "The knife severed your brachial artery," he said. "Its Dark magic is such that neither magical nor Muggle healing can affect the wounds it inflicts. However, it seems a hospitality spell can effectively counteract it." He looked at her and half-smiled. "Who knew? We both learned something..." He took a drink.

Hermione drew her breath, shocked that he could be so casual about it. "It's a Final Knife?" she asked.

"Precisely. Without Draco's spell, your impulsive act of valor would have led to real danger." Lucius sat back. 

Hermione pulled her sleeve back down and looked into the fire. "It stands to reason that the Final Knife would have been the weapon to spill the blood of the last silver dragon," she said, her voice distant. She looked back at Lucius, "Or was that what turned it from a regular knife into a Final Knife?"

"How do you know about that?" Lucius asked, sounding slightly awed. 

Hermione smiled slightly. "I had a vision," answered him. She looked back into the flames of the fire, letting them hypnotize her with their dancing form and color. "Now, I'm not generally prone to these sorts of things, but the second time, when you actually gave me the real silver dragon blood, I lit it on fire in Professor Snape's class. It exploded and I was knocked out of my chair. I hit my head and blacked out, at which point I saw it perfectly clearly: some ancient Malfoy family member, the Final Knife, the silver dragon, and a lot of very powerful blood." She looked back at him once again. "At that point, even without an appraisal from Professor Snape, I knew we had the right thing."

"You did indeed. To answer your question, it was a Final Knife before. That was how a small weapon like that could slay a silver dragon." He smiled. "But that process and its family secret fall unquestionably under Dark Arts; I'm sure you wouldn't find it interesting in the slightest...seeing as how you're--remind me? Such a bastion of virtue." 

Hermione pressed her lips together. She was insanely curious, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. 

Lucius' smile faded and he was now looking at the side of her face, brows knit. 

"What?" Hermione asked before she felt the annoyingly familiar feeling of blood again running down her cheek.

"You're injured," he said, actually sounding concerned. He set his drink down. "Turn your head," he ordered. Hermione looked over the back of the couch so he could see. He moved towards her and took out his wand. With his other hand he reached up and gently ran his fingers down the side of her jaw, tipping her head up. Hermione felt an increase in her pulse as soon as he touched her. She put her effort into breathing slowly. "May I?" Lucius whispered.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "May you what?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. 

"Heal you, Miss Granger," he said, amusement in his voice. 

"Oh," Hermione replied. "Sure. I mean, yes." She cursed inwardly. Now he would think that he was having some sort of effect on her. _Which he's not,_ Hermione thought firmly.

He pointed his wand at her face. _"Dermium immendo,"_ he said and Hermione felt the wounds close and as soon as they did, the sting in them too was gone. As soon as he was finished, he dropped his hand away from her face, moved back to his end of the couch and stowed his wand. 

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"Any time," Lucius answered, looking smug.

Hermione cleared her throat. "By the way, why do you have Healing magic?"

Lucius took his drink back. "Because all I want to do in life is help other people." Hermione was gratified to see that he couldn't say it with a straight face.

"Sorry I asked," she muttered, tracing the patterns in the couch upholstery with her finger. "I mean, it's not as if you're a Healer."

"You're frightfully clever. Why do _you_ think I have Healing magic?" he asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. "Because you torture people. It's much easier to cause pain if you understand how the body works and what different spells and potions do to it. Moreover, you can heal people back up to start all over again."

"Very good, Miss Granger. Any other reason come to mind?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know," she said hollowly.

"If a Death Eater gets badly cursed or injured, do you think he or she is going to present at St. Mungo's?"

Hermione frowned. She hadn't thought of that. "No, I suppose not," she said slowly. "So, you're the Death Eaters' Healer?"

"Former, Miss Granger, former." 

"How many levels of Healing do you have?"

Lucius sighed and looked beyond her, mulling it over. "I have seven full, plus about three spells at eight that I can cast if all the planets align." 

Hermione's gaped at him. He might be lying, of course; he always might be lying. There were only ten levels in total and only a few wizards and witches had achieved them in magical history. Well, technically there were 11, but the 11th only held one spell, which was resurrection, put in place as an abstract concept rather than an actual achievement. 

Lucius looked back at her. "You've never wanted me more, have you?" he asked, smiling at her once again. 

Hermione rewarded him with an exasperated look, but deep down, she was fairly impressed, although she'd sooner climb on his dungeon table than admit it to him. _No wonder he's good with his hands._ Her eyes widened. The thought had come out of nowhere. She regrouped. "Why do you know Muggle healing?"

"I care above all for the health and safety of our non-Magical brethren," Lucius said. "I'm frankly insulted and more than a little hurt that you could doubt this of me, Miss Granger." This time, he didn't even attempt to say it seriously. He was enjoying this way too much.

She was getting nowhere. "Do you even know my first name?" she asked him. 

"It's Hermione," he said without hesitating. He even pronounced it correctly.

"I didn't know you knew that," she said. 

"I know quite a bit about you, actually."

Hermione frowned. "You do?"

"As it is with the rest of the wizarding world, Hogwarts is not a large place; Draco has mentioned you more than a few times in the seven years the two of you have attended. Nothing flattering, I can assure you, but his opinion is admittedly biased. Also, I'm on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. I extracted and read your file."

"When? And why?"

"The morning following your clumsy yet compelling attempt to seduce me." 

Hermione could feel color rising to her cheeks. "It couldn't have been too clumsy; it worked, didn't it?"

Lucius took a drink. He tilted his other hand from side to side. "I think 'worked,' may be an excessively generous word, Miss Granger." 

He had a point. It had hardly been what either of them had expected. 

Lucius continued. "In any case, as a man of business, I wasn't about to make the investment without at least a background check. Your file made for remarkably boring reading, actually, Muggle parents, exemplary student, prefect, Head Girl, etcetera, etcetera. Also, and this is a delightful fact that I stumbled upon while reading: it was _you_ I went up against, and not Dumbledore's pet giant Hagrid, during that ridiculous hipogriff trial. You can imagine my surprise in uncovering that little gem."

Hermione glanced at him. She had never thought about Buckbeak's trial in that context. 

Lucius spoke again. "Anyway, your history is decorated with numerous admirable achievements, although one might wonder why in Merlin's name you've been trying so hard; it's almost as if you know you don't belong in this world and are making every effort to hide it."

Hermione glared at him. "You are so very wrong," she said. She knew he had said it to get under her skin, but it still stung because for her first few years at Hogwarts, the statement was perfectly accurate. Not so much now, as there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she had come into her own as a student and as a witch. _And if I don't belong, how is it that I've bested your precious pure-blooded son at every turn for seven years?_ She was a hair's breadth from saying it out loud, but held back, ultimately for Draco's sake. Reminding his father of his failures would do Draco no favors at this point and as his father had said, he was on thin ice. 

Lucius smiled maliciously. "Wrong or not, I seem to have hit a nerve. As I was saying, on paper, you are an insufferably good girl; irresistible to a monster like me, I'm sure you were thinking, or to hear Narcissa tell it, Miss Weasley was thinking, but there's much more to it than that. Actually, most of what I needed to know about you, I had already learned two years prior in the Department of Mysteries."

Hermione frowned. "Meaning what?"

Lucius listed her attributes on his fingers. "Exceptional at dueling, outpacing several Death Eaters, although not _this_ Death Eater of course," he said, putting his hand on his chest.

"Former," Hermione corrected him, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "And I disarmed you without a wand, remember?"

"Not then you didn't. May I continue?"

Hermione nodded, her curiosity roused. 

"Cunning, quick-witted, daring, and, above all, willing to do anything for the Order of the Phoenix." 

Hermione sighed. "So you were already on your guard about me before we ever...were together."

Lucius nodded. "Oh, very much so, but it gets better." He set his drink behind him on the side table. He then turned back to her and leaned forward, spreading his hands. "The truth is, placing lineage aside, we are two of a kind."

Hermione looked at him quickly. "No we are not. _You_ are a morally bankrupt, prejudiced, sadistic, megalomaniacal killer, and _I'm_ well...I'm me; let's just leave it at that. And since when do you ever place lineage aside?"

Lucius looked into the fire once again. "When a Muggle-born does something impressive, I make the rare exception, another lesson learned in Azkaban, and a tale for another time." He looked at her once again. "Besides, I've already had you, so I daresay that thestral has flown." 

Hermione allowed herself a smile of triumph. "So, blood purity doesn't mean as much to you as you let on? I _knew_ it. I knew it the night I confronted you with the pictures."

Lucius glanced at her sharply. "Blood purity _does_ matter. The Malfoy line has been clean of Muggle taint for three centuries, Miss Granger. On the other hand, the reason that it has lasted that long is because of sheer pragmatism, which, from time to time, involves rather close interactions with Muggle-born witches and wizards, not unlike yourself."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked, rubbing her eyes with one hand. The fire and the extremely late hour were starting to make her eyes burn. She looked back at him. 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I should think it obvious," he said. 

Hermione shook her head. "I can't figure your angle this time," she said.

"It's high time we called a truce and started to trust each other," Lucius said. 

Hermione almost laughed out loud. "That isn't going to happen, and none of what you're saying makes us alike."

"You don't believe me? Very well, Miss Granger, I'll spell it out: attention to detail, aptitude for magic, audacity, talent for solving complex problems, sharp memory, lust for knowledge, and an intense desire to break the rules: all aspects we have in common. The only difference there is that you're still resisting that last one, and I never have, I've just gotten better at hiding it. Shall I go on?"

"Weren't you a Slytherin prefect once upon a time? You must not always have had such a penchant for rule-breaking."

Lucius gave her a look of disbelief. "Please assure me that you are not truly that naïve. Inserting yourself into a position of power makes rule breaking that much easier. I've based my entire life on that tenet. You're a prefect yourself, another thing we have in common, and Head Girl, and yet none of that stopped you from committing some rather depraved acts with me. In fact, it probably made it easier to get away with, as no one would ever believe it of you."

Hermione stared at the fire now, thinking about what he had just said. Her mouth felt dry. "Are you calling us equals?" she asked.

Lucius smiled. "I suppose I am. Have you changed your mind about that drink now?"

Hermione looked at him. "Yes, now that you mention it," she replied, "I'll take yours. You can pour yourself another. Please and thank you." 

"Someone's been spending too much time with Alastor Moody." Lucius cocked his head to one side. "Do you still suspect that I might engage in some un-gentleman-like behavior?" 

Hermione sat up on the couch and leaned towards him. "If you're as intelligent as you think you are, answer me this: would you trust you, if you were me?" she asked. "Shall I list the potions that you could slip me to make my night even _less_ pleasant than it already has been? All while technically falling within the parameters of the hospitality spell? Veritaserum, Forgetfulness Potion, Amortentia, Draught of Living Death, Magic Reversal potion --that also would lift the hospitality spell, by the way, so you could harm me with impunity if you willed it--shall _I_ go on?" 

"Fair point, Miss Granger," he said. He turned away from her, took his half-full glass and handed it to her. He got up off the couch and poured another for himself. "And those are all very good ideas. You say we're not alike and yet there are times when your mind works exactly the way mine does." He sat back down. "To what shall we toast?" he asked.

"Breaking the rules?"

He clinked with her. "To breaking the rules," he said. They both drank. The alcohol was sweet, mellow, and heated the back of her throat, but not in a bad way. It was miles better than Ginny's "courage elixir," in any event. It shouldn't have surprised her. As Draco had said in their second year at Hogwarts, Lucius could afford the best. Warmth flowed through her as she took another sip.

Lucius spoke again. "You should feel quite flattered in any event, as there is hardly a witch or wizard alive whom I hold in higher esteem than myself."

Hermione barely suppressed a laugh, hoping against hope that he was kidding, but suspecting that he was not. "That is...undeniable," she finally managed, "but you don't know me at all if you think I like breaking rules."

"Please. You love to break the rules. You're just not overly practiced at it. If selling your virginity to me hadn't involved breaking some rather sizable rules, you wouldn't have done it, and more to the point, you wouldn't have enjoyed it as much as you did. Admittedly, I enjoyed it too, for many of the same reasons, which I'm sure you and your friend were counting on. However, unlike me, you think you ought to follow the rules that they have set for you, and because you're a terrible liar, you haven't been able to get away with breaking those rules. Yet."

Hermione chewed on her lip. "But you use your intelligence, skill set, and experience for evil. You crave violence, destruction, pain, and the fear and awe of others. You do have a tremendous amount of power, which you shamelessly abuse. I'm not like that, not even a little."

"Are you so sure about that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

Lucius leaned towards her and lowered his voice. "Then I'm going to reveal to you the dirty little secret that your professors at Hogwarts have not taught you: everyone can kill, everyone can take pleasure in making others suffer. Mostly it's a matter of what it takes to push a witch or wizard to that point. I confess, for some of us, it's much easier than it is for others, but make no mistake, Miss Granger, that savagery is present in you as well."

Hermione had to admit that she had enjoyed hitting Draco in the face during Third Year. She had also enjoyed trapping Rita Skeeter in a bug jar and watch her crawl around like the pathetic little pest that she was, but that still didn't make Lucius right, he couldn't be. "But thinking about it and acting on it are exponentially different," she said. "Unlike you, I can control my impulses."

Lucius shrugged and sat back. "Thoughts into words, words into actions, Miss Granger; it has to start somewhere. For example, seducing me didn't just happen: it started out as a thought, and then became words, exchanged first between you and Miss Weasley and second, between you and me, and finally culminating in immoral, yet pleasurable action. _That_ was an impulse that you thankfully didn't bother to control."

Hermione scowled at him. "It was for the Order of the Phoenix, not for some base animalistic urge."

Lucius lifted both eyebrows in mock surprise. "Is _that_ what you've been telling yourself so you can sleep at night?"

Hermione swallowed, at a loss for words. She took another drink, unsure what else to do at that moment. Each sip went down easier than the one before and made her more at ease and she had to warn herself not to get too comfortable.

Lucius opted to be magnanimous by changing the subject. "In all seriousness, Miss Granger, if you'll let me, I'd like to take a look at those ribs of yours." He set his drink aside, and then took hers from her hand and did the same. 

"I'm fine," she said shortly.

"Come now, Miss Granger," he said, "It's nothing I haven't seen before and I've fractured ribs doing the same maneuver to larger people than you. Moreover, I've already proven that I am both willing and able to heal you. Besides, you're still under hospitality; what's the worst that could possibly happen?" 

Hermione sighed. The protective spell would have prevented any damage to her right side from his takedown, but Lucius had done such skilled work on her face, that she might as well give him a chance on the mess that was her left. She pulled her shirt over her head, keeping her chest covered. She turned her back to him, feeling the heat from the fire. She heard him sliding up behind her on the couch. He put his hand on her bare skin and she jumped. 

"Easy there, tiger," he whispered. "If you relax, this will be much easier for both of us." 

He pulled her shirt to the side and moved his hand over the right side of her ribs, found it satisfactory and then, almost as an afterthought, moved over to the left. As soon as his hand found the bruised area, Hermione flinched and drew in a sharp breath. 

"What did you do?" Lucius asked, once again sounding unexpectedly concerned. 

"Don't worry about it," Hermione answered through clenched teeth. "If you would just heal it, that would be best."

"Very well, Miss Granger," Lucius said, sighing. She heard him say the healing incants and felt the pain in her ribs and the surrounding tissue dissipate. When he finished, he put his wand away, still keeping one hand on her. He put his other hand on her back and slipped both of them up to her shoulders. He pressed his thumbs in, gently but firmly to each side of her spine and began to massage her shoulders. Her body relaxed under his hands as he rubbed the knots out. "You know," he said, as the tension fell away from her, "I don't just use Healing magic to inflict pain; that was an unfair assessment of my character, or more to the point, an incomplete one."

"It was, was it?" she asked, softly. "I'd hate to judge you unfairly." She knew she should move, should stop him, but found that it was more than her willpower could handle at that moment.

"It can be used in equal measure to cause pleasure," Lucius murmured. He moved down her back now, finding all the tight areas with his hands and patiently working them out. Draco's words came back to her, _Any time you think he's being kind, he's fooling you._ But it felt so good, and she was so sore, and so tired, she didn't really care at that moment. "As it happens, I have a proposition for you," Lucius said. _Looks like Draco was right,_ Hermione thought, immediately on her guard. 

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes closed. 

Lucius stopped and leaned over her, his blond hair trailing over her bare back, similar to the night that they were together. "I'd like you to become my mistress," he said. _He's going to try and make peace, but it's all a ploy to keep an eye on you._

Hermione's eyes snapped open. "What?" she said.

"You heard me fine, Hermione," he whispered in her ear. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. "And I'm surprised that you didn't see it coming. Of course, you'd have to keep your mouth shut...well, most of the time." 

Hermione blushed at the innuendo, but sat up and pulled her shirt back over her head, freeing her hair. "That's a terrible idea," she said flatly. She sat back on the couch. "You know from experience that us...together can only end extremely badly, and I mean for both of us."

"Well, yes, with that attitude," Lucius teased her. 

"You made it as humiliating and painful as possible last time, so your offer is less tempting than you might think," Hermione said contemptuously. 

All traces of humor left Lucius' face. "I did nothing of the kind. I brought you successfully to orgasm, and if I were to make an educated guess based on the look of total astonishment on your face, I'd say it was your first one ever. If you think that was the most humiliating and painful thing I could have done to you, you are seriously mistaken."

"Do you really think reminding me of that is going to further your cause? You called me a Mudblood and you debased me," Hermione said, her voice rising.

"You debased yourself," Lucius hissed. "You used me, and I knew what you were doing, so yes, I made it exactly what you had set it up to be, played the role into which I had been cast, and I in turn used you as you had intended."

"Role? What role? You're a Death Eater!"

"Former. But a Death Eater _is_ what you assumed you would be getting, as cruel, intolerant, and vicious as you desired me to be. That is what you wanted, isn't it, what you were expecting?" 

Hermione gasped in disbelief. He was actually blaming her for his horrible behavior towards her the night they were together. It was mind-boggling to her. "Do you ever take ownership of any of the terrible things that you do? Of what you say, of how you treat other people? Ever? Besides, Ginny said sex is supposed to be fun," she said.

Lucius smiled. "That's hardly an answer. Besides, it _was_ fun for me, and if you say that no part of it was fun for you, I'll know you're lying to me," he said. "Moreover, when you first propositioned me, pleasure was far from your mind, which is ironic, because it should have been your top priority." He looked down and his voice softened. "Had you approached me that night at Hogwarts and simply told me that you wanted to take me on as a lover, the outcome would have been quite different." He looked back up at her. "But the very first thing you did was to curse me in the back."

Hermione could hear her pulse roaring in her ears as her anger came to a head. "Really? _I_ cursed _you_ in the back? You gave me pig's blood in trade for my virginity."

"People don't like to be used, Miss Granger, nor do they like to be lied to, _nor_ do they like to be blackmailed," Lucius said, his voice quiet. 

"Nor do they like to be humiliated at their most vulnerable, to say nothing of being beaten up, kidnapped, or tortured," Hermione retorted. 

"All of that could have been avoided easily," Lucius said. "If you wanted me, you should have been honest, and perhaps opened with that the night you approached me. That at least would have earned my respect, which would have been reflected in how I treated you as a lover. You would have gotten a far more favorable response, and even you have to admit that things would not have escalated to the degree that they have. Speaking of which, involving Miss Weasley was also a mistake."

Hermione glared at him. "It was her idea in the first place."

Lucius raised both eyebrows. "Oh, so I'm supposed to take ownership of my inexcusable behavior, but you and Miss Weasley get a free pass for yours? You forget that all you had to do was decline her services and her participation from the outset, or at the very least taken all the pictures from her before she used them against both of us. You could and should have stopped her far sooner than you did. That would have spared her of any of this ugliness."

"This ugliness? No one made you set Draco on her, kidnap her, and then torture her. "How can you call yourself a 'former' Death Eater when you do things like that?""

Lucius spread his hands once again. "None of this was at the Dark Lord's behest; Death Eater or not, when struck, I strike back; it's as simple as that. The point is that you insisted upon setting the game up along with its rules and I've played by them, but I have never had any intention of losing. Based on your initial offer alone, you have no right to call me cold-blooded." 

" _You_ forget that you could have said no," Hermione said, disconcerted by the implications of what Lucius was saying. She had never thought of it in those terms, that her comfortable rationalization of seducing him had been what had damaged both of them, rather than the act itself. She never dreamed that her initial proposition might have hurt him. She did not think him capable of it. 

"I wasn't going to say no," Lucius said, although now the smile he gave her was rueful. "Whether or not you were using me, or vice versa, it's not every day that the Head Girl of Hogwarts, who happens to be of age, offers me her body, to say nothing of her virginity. Only a fool would pass up an opportunity like that." His smile faded. "But we're well beyond that now. You've proven that you are more than a one-time conquest."

Hermione looked away. "I suppose you think that's a compliment."

"Yes, Miss Granger, I most certainly do," Lucius said. 

Hermione looked back at him. She relented slightly. "Even if I were considering your proposition, which I am not, I have no guarantee that you won't try and hurt me in the future, me or Ginny. The hints that you could kill me or her, or that you have no problem doing so...well, let's just say it's not the turn-on you were hoping for." 

Lucius sighed. "Your safety is, for the moment, assured, as is Miss Weasley's."

"Do you know why Ginny did it?" Hermione asked. "Because even after I delivered on my end of the bargain, you took the blood back from Professor Snape."

"I think we both know that was just an excuse for Miss Weasley. Besides, what choice did I have at that point?"

"But you didn't know that I had lied when you...I mean when we..." Hermione trailed off.

Lucius smirked. "Had sex? You can just say it, Miss Granger. We're both adults, and there's little point in shying away from it now. And yes, I most assuredly _did_ know beforehand." 

Hermione looked at him, dumbfounded. "How? How could you have possibly known that?" 

"Placing aside your inability to lie well for the nonce, once again, it was in your school file, in black and white. Your 7th Year Final Project had nothing to do with silver dragon blood; it was some nonsensical endeavor regarding magical creature rights."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. He was right. Every time she thought she had gotten a leg up on him, he out-maneuvered her, over and over again. It was like dueling, only more exhausting. _And more exciting,_ her mind whispered.

Lucius continued. "Professor Snape didn't actually betray you on that account; he merely confirmed what I already knew, or at least half of it. After I learned the entire truth from Severus, I could hardly let you keep it, particularly as you intended to give it to the Order of the Phoenix, who intended to use it against me. So, we're back where we started." 

"We're back where we started," Hermione agreed. "The truth is...you have nothing to offer me in return this time, if you ever really did the first time around." 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "My goodness. That was as mean-spirited as it was inaccurate."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I swear as I'm sitting here, I didn't say it out of malice."

Lucius inclined his head. "Very well, then it's simply incorrect. Not to be unseemly, but bringing you to orgasm was no accident; it's something I can repeat, in any number of different ways." He held up a hand before Hermione could protest. "I'm not saying this to be arrogant; the ways of pleasure constitute a skill set that can be taught, practiced, and honed. Like Charms, like Potions, like Transfiguration...like Dark Arts. Consider that, next time you're in class. In some ways, it's a shame that I'm the only lover you've ever had because I can assure you, your pleasure is not guaranteed every time with every person, as you may one day learn to your disappointment. And, as I most assuredly do, you should insist upon it, otherwise what's the point?"

Hermione thought about what Lucius had done with his hands the night they were together, the deftness, accuracy, and competence of his fingers, the injustice she felt in their skill far outstripping hers, and deep down she knew he wasn't lying. She remembered just how badly she wanted him to pleasure her in that way, or really in any way. She recalled how good it felt when she finally did orgasm with him inside of her and she felt blood rushing to her face, hoping that Lucius wouldn't notice. 

Lucius continued, "However, if pleasure that is both varied and guaranteed is insufficient for your discerning taste, you're about to graduate from Hogwarts, seeking life in higher education, most likely, and then what? Something else in the wizarding world, I would imagine, perhaps the Ministry. You have no idea the pull that I have in that world, Miss Granger, power, influence, money..." 

Hermione looked at him. "My parents have put by for university since I was born and they're fairly well off by Muggle standards, nowhere near your assets, of course, but I'm hardly a charity case," she pointed out. "And do you really think I'd accept any of that from you? That I'd consent to being your kept woman? Prostitution simply does not work for me, as you yourself should know best. It's more prettily dressed, but make no mistake, that's exactly what it would be." 

Lucius smiled. "Yes, you are an appalling prostitute, but that's not what I'm asking you to do. I'm not offering you a trick; I'm offering you a partnership."

"You still don't seem to understand that I have so much more to lose than to gain," Hermione said, "and it's just a matter of time before I'm at the business end of your wand again."

Lucius regarded her, his gaze once again calculating. "Have you ever visited the restricted section of the library at Hogwarts, Miss Granger?"

"Yes..." she answered slowly, wondering with suspicion why he was suddenly changing his approach.

"And how, pray tell, does a Hogwarts student gain access to the restricted section?"

Hermione paused. What was he getting at? "As a board member, surely you must know," she said.

Lucius rested his hand on the side of his temple. "Humor me, if you would be so kind."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She shifted her hips so she was facing him. "One has to present a proposal to a professor and then he or she writes a voucher for the specific book that one requires."

"Go on," Lucius said.

"Madam Pince finds the book and then the student has two hours to research. More, if he or she has special permission. Each book is tagged, so that if it is taken out of the restricted section, an alarm sounds. If one attempts to circumvent the alarm system, one is forthwith banished from the restricted section for a month, a year, or the remainder of one's time Hogwarts depending on which offense it is."

"Anything else?" 

"If there is anyone else in the Restricted Section with the student, he or she may not talk to them. At the end the student gives the book back. One of the librarians reads the student's notes upon exiting and the student has to agree not to divulge what he or she has learned to his or her peers." 

Lucius looked surprised, but Hermione knew it was an act. "My word, what an extraordinary amount of effort to go to for such a minute amount of information."

"I suppose, but they'll have their reasons for doing it," Hermione answered. 

"No doubt," Lucius said, his gray eyes alight with enjoyment, "And as much as I'd _hate_ to be the one to compromise your innocence, I feel compelled to point out that the draconian process you just described to me has yet to prevent any Hogwarts alumni from performing Dark Arts."

Hermione furrowed her brows but said nothing. 

"Ironic, wouldn't you say?" 

"What's your point?" Hermione asked. She rested her arm on the back of the couch and watched him, wondering what he was trying to do.

"I can only imagine how much it must infuriate you that all that magical knowledge is in there, mere feet from you, and yet you can learn none of it, or only a very limited amount, under terribly oppressive circumstances." Lucius' voice was soft and he reached out and trailed his fingers lightly over the back of Hermione's hand. She felt her heart speed up.

"You're no longer talking about the restricted section, are you?" she asked him. Hermione intended to move her hand out from under his, but found it staying put, mesmerized by the movement of his fingers light on her skin.

"Only allegorically," Lucius replied. "I've offered you my body, and if that were sufficient we would have moved beyond talking by now. You've already declined my wealth, influence, and power, which leaves my mind."

Hermione smiled. "All that magical knowledge in there, mere feet from me, and yet off limits."

"There is so much I could teach you," Lucius said, voice low and smooth as silk. "If I chose to, that is. I saw the way you looked at me when I mentioned the Final Knife. I could tell you everything you wanted to know about it, if you were to...persuade me somehow. It's a very powerful magic item with a fascinating history. Such a shame that it has to be kept a secret from you."

 _Damn him,_ Hermione thought. She looked away. She didn't dare look at him now. He had sweetened the deal to a point that she was unsure if her resolve would hold up if she looked into his eyes. His hand was still on hers, stroking gently, awakening those warm, not-unwelcome feelings between her legs. 

"Are you doing all this so can keep an eye on me?" Hermione asked, "Keep your friends close and all that?"

"We're not friends, Miss Granger," Lucius moved closer to her. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Mr. Malfoy. And you didn't answer my question."

"Am I keeping you close because you're my enemy?"

Hermione nodded.

"Truthfully..." he brushed the hair from her neck back over her shoulder with one hand, trailing it over the surface of her skin. "What does it matter?" He moved even closer, his lips millimeters from her ear. He smelled good. "You're complicating it when it's actually quite simple. Would you like to hear me say it?" Lucius asked.

"Yes," Hermione whispered. 

"I want you," he said. "And what's more, you want me too." Lucius moved his other hand to her knee and ran it slowly up her thigh. As he did, all the muscles in Hermione's pelvic floor tightened. He kissed her neck lightly, where her pulse jumped. "You may as well admit that you enjoyed it last time, and the best part is, I was barely even trying then. You can't even imagine what it's like when I do." He kissed her again, harder, under her ear. His hand moved up a few more inches on her thigh. 

Hermione could feel herself slipping under. She wanted his hands, his mouth, his body on her. She knew that Lucius had held back that first night and part of the temptation was in curiosity, the specificity of exactly what he meant. Thinking about how he had felt in her, filling her, taking her without mercy or remorse, wringing her climax out of her, she felt her legs drifting apart to allow his hand access. And to tantalize her with the Final Knife, lore likely no one else knew but him; that had been a diabolical move on his part. 

However, it was still Lucius asking: the same Lucius who refused to take responsibility for his choices. The same Lucius who lied and manipulated everyone around him without remorse, including his own son. The same Lucius who cast curses and used Dark weapons with a casual brutality that chilled the soul. This was the person to whom those skilled hands belonged, those hands that were now mere inches from where, Merlin help her, she wanted them. "There's something else I want you to say," Hermione murmured.

"What's that?"

"Two things, very simple," Hermione said. "I want you to say 'thank you,' and I want you to say 'I'm sorry.' Four little words and then I'll do anything you want." She was confident that his ego would prevent his actually saying anything of the kind. She let her legs move farther apart, 

"Anything I want?"

Hermione nodded. 

"Are you absolutely sure? Tread carefully, Miss Granger..."

"Yes," Hermione whispered, doubt now pricking at her mind, as Draco's words came back to her, _He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants_. 

"Thank you for putting your body between my son and what you both perceived to be certain death, at great personal risk," Lucius whispered back without faltering. Now Lucius' words from earlier came back to her as well. _Survival relies on unpredictability and the ability to slide right out from underneath your enemies' assumptions._

Hermione's heart dropped. Once again, she was dead wrong and once again, he was out-maneuvering her. In doing what she asked, he was forcing her into one of two positions: First, she would have to succumb to him right then and there, an option her imagination happily let her see, lying naked in the warmth of the fire, spreading her legs for him, having him between them, letting him in as he-- _No. Stop._ Hermione firmly cut off the flow of images and refocused on the second and frankly, her only option, which was to rescind her offer, making her a total hypocrite. 

Lucius continued. "I'm sorry that I set Draco to assaulting your friend, and I'm sorry that I tortured her as well." _You set the game up along with its rules and I played by them, but I have never had any intention of losing._ He pulled away from her, having successfully called her bluff. "Now that I've held up my end of the bargain, we'll get started with your end. You may as well lose the clothes, but please, take your time; I want to savor this moment between us." 

Hermione froze, her heart racing in panic. 

"Now, the very first thing I'm going to teach you is the very important life skill of how to be on top. Don't worry; you'll enjoy it very much, I imagine. Most witches do, and you'll particularly enjoy it, as you get to control everything. That's something you like, isn't it, Miss Granger? Absolute control over the situation?" He smiled in vindication.

Hermione swallowed. "I--" she could not find a single solitary word to say to him. 

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" His smile turned icy. "I will always insist upon your consent but I feel obligated to point out that I did what you asked without hesitation. You're not going to go back on your word, are you, not after you vilified me for doing the same thing and then accused me of not possessing a sense of fair play?"

Hermione was completely stuck and she now berated herself for making such a critical error. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes. She would not, _would not_ cry in front of him. She blinked hard. 

"I ask because crossing me yet again would not only be terribly unfair, but exceptionally stupid. A lesser man might even consider it an act of war."

Hermione managed to hold onto her self-control, but only just. "I can't," she said. "I shouldn't have had you say anything but the truth is, if I don't feel safe, this won't ever work." 

Lucius looked at her in disgust for a moment. "Oh, just go," he snapped. 

Hermione stood, and took her wand from the table. Slowly, Lucius took his as well. 

"I have to return to Hogwarts," Hermione said, attempting mostly unsuccessfully to keep her dignity.

"Yes," Lucius said. "Run back to Hogwarts. No place is safer." He looked at her with contempt and for a moment, disappointment.

Hermione stared at the carpet, unable to meet his eyes. She raised her wand, preparing for the journey back.

"Miss Granger?" Lucius said. She looked at him finally, forced herself to look in his eyes this time. His gaze lacked any trace of pity. "My offer stands, despite your disgraceful behavior tonight. However, I suspect that the next time we see each other, it shall to be far more difficult for you to say no."

"What makes you say that?" Hermione asked, uneasy. It had been difficult enough for her to say no to him this time.

Lucius smiled once more. "Oh, just a feeling that I have," he said quietly.

Hermione inclined her head. "Mr. Malfoy," she said.

"Miss Granger."

Without another word, she Disapparated.

CHAPTER 26: INVITATION

Following the alarm being tripped in the wee hours of the morning, Narcissa had finally drifted off into fitful, light sleep, her mind racing. The sun was well up over the trees when she did wake. The house was uncharacteristically quiet. She imagined Draco was still asleep. She got up off of her chaise and walked over to her bureau to brush her hair. Something was wrong. The picture was missing.

She checked underneath; maybe it had fallen. She stood and looked around the floor, but it was well and truly gone. She frowned. It was unlikely that Lucius had taken it or even known to take it, which left..."No," she whispered. Draco had found it. She was absolutely sure. She opened her door and hurried down the hall. 

Lucius' office door was open. He was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair, one foot on his desk. He played idly with a long, tawny owl feather and looked up as she walked in. "The story won't break," he greeted her. He looked tired, but true to his word, an envelope was sitting on the desk in front of him.

"How?"

"I didn't have to compromise my own virtue and tarnish my wedding band with Rita if that's what you're asking," Lucius half-smiled but his voice was hard. 

"You're horrible."

Lucius shrugged. "That's what everyone says. But I can tell you that it's over, with surprisingly little expense or difficulty..." He trailed off for a moment, twirling the feather in his fingers. "I simply beat her there, broke in, found the envelope and cleared out within minutes, no harm, no foul. Believe me, I'm as relieved as you are."

Something about his demeanor was not right. 

"Wait. Then what went wrong?"

"Look for yourself." He pushed the envelope over to her. 

A part of her already knew the answer as she opened the envelope and pulled out its contents: her missing picture and most incriminating of all, Draco's message . "'That is a Hogwarts student. Her name doesn't matter. Draco Lucius Malfoy,'" she read out loud. "Oh, Draco..."

"There's more, Narcissa," Lucius said.

Just then, a house elf came to the door, bearing a silver tray with a letter. Narcissa waved him in. Lucius took his foot off the desk, stood, stepped around Narcissa, and took the note from the tray. The house elf bowed deeply and retreated. Lucius opened the letter and scanned it quickly, shaking his head. 

"What is it?" Narcissa asked.

"It's Dumbledore," he said, looking at her. "He wants to settle." He held the letter out to her. She read it.

_Dear Lucius,_

_You will be pleased and I think in no small way relieved that Ginny Weasley re-appeared in St. Mungo's Hospital early this morning, safe, and perhaps most remarkably of all, healed from the assault. Upon seeing how concerned you were last night with her disappearance during your visit to Hogwarts, I wanted nothing more than to set your mind at ease._

_As to the crux of this missive, I would be honored if you would grace the school with your presence as there is a matter of some delicacy that can, I'm afraid, only be settled by you, Miss Ginny Weasley, and Miss Hermione Granger, with the assistance of Professors Snape and McGonagall. I assume that I need not elaborate and I'm confident that you would agree that it needs to be settled to absolute certainty before any more damage is done, to any party involved._

_I shall expect you Thursday next, at 10:00 in the morning. If you bring terms acceptable to you, I will make sure Miss Weasley and Miss Granger do the same. I'm sure that we can come to a mutually beneficial solution._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore  
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"'Settled to absolute certainty...'" Lucius mused. "They're going to ask for an Unbreakable Vow."

Narcissa looked at him, exasperated. "That's ridiculous," she said.

Lucius' eyes lit up. "No, it's actually perfect," he said.

CHAPTER 27: LIBERATION

Even early in the morning, Gringott's was lively. Goblins occupied every high desk as Draco walked down the polished marble floor to the main desk. He stopped before it, looked up, and waited.

"Young Mr. Malfoy, how may we be of service?" Griphook asked, upon noticing him. 

Draco presented his wand. "I need to close my accounts, including the trust fund."

"Very well." Griphook took Draco's wand. "If you would just follow me, please." 

Draco trailed after the goblin, over to the vault entrance, climbing into the tiny cart after him. They followed the familiar tunnels down and down and down. The Malfoy vault was said to be the largest at Gringott's, so getting there involved a long, nearly vomit-inducing journey. Finally the cart stopped before the massive edifice carved into the rock and bearing the Malfoy crest. Draco got out of the cart and looked up. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,_ the Malfoy family motto was set in gold into the stone surface. Draco sighed and watched the door that Griphook opened in the side of the rock using Draco's wand. It swung inwards. 

Gold piled every surface and even this was only the small, liquid fraction of the Malfoy fortune; Draco knew most of it was tied up in commodities and investments both Magical and, despite all outward disdain, Muggle. Griphook conjured the appropriate spells and Draco came back out of the cave carrying a promissory note for five million Galleons, which emptied his now-matured trust fund and his own account. 

In the lobby, Griphook returned his wand to him. Without looking back, Draco walked back out into Diagon Alley. He covered his white-blond hair with the hood of his cloak. He wanted to leave the country as soon as possible before the story printed and all hell broke loose, but had to at least say goodbye to his mother, so he Apparated back home. 

The house was quiet when he arrived in the foyer. Draco went to his room and gathered a few possessions. One more look and he then turned and walked out. As he proceeded down the hall, he noticed his father's office door was ajar. 

"Draco?" His mother's voice. He walked in. Both of his parents were at the desk, an all-to-familiar envelope clutched in his mother's hand. Draco had no idea how his father had recovered it from Rita, but he grudgingly admitted to himself that he was relieved. His father now knew how he felt, and yet he wasn't actually going to be responsible for hurting his mother. Deep down, Draco knew it was for the best. He'd be gone soon anyway.

"Narcissa, can you excuse us for a moment?" His father's voice was calm, but Draco knew from long experience that it was a thin veneer over searing, white-hot rage.

His mother looked from his father to him and back. She drew her shoulders back. "Only if you give me your wand," she said to Lucius.

He looked at her sharply. She held her hand out, her lips a tight line. Neither moved; they just stared each other down. Finally, Lucius gave in. "Fine," he snapped. He surrendered his wand to her open palm. She took it, dropped the envelope on the desk and walked towards the door. She stopped in front of Draco and gave him a look that chilled him to his core. 

"Mother?" he asked.

Her eyes welled up, but before any could spill, she reached up and slapped him in the face, hard. Shocked, he looked after her, touching his reddening face. Never, in his 17 years, had she ever raised a hand against him. The fact that she chose to do so now spoke greater volumes about his betrayal than anything that she could have said to him. He stared after her retreating form for a moment before his father's voice jolted him back.

"Draco, come here."

He obliged. 

His father came around the desk. "Well? Do you have anything to say?" 

Draco sighed. "There's nothing to say: I turned against you in every possible way; it's true."

Lucius looked as if he would curse Draco if only he had his wand. It was a bitter reminder to Draco that his mother's loyalty to him was far more than he deserved. Then, surprisingly, Lucius' face relaxed into a look of profound disappointment, not unlike the night Draco was expelled from Hogwarts. "Then you have no place here in Malfoy Manor, do you?" he asked softly. 

"Are you disowning me?"

Lucius shook his head. "No, Draco, you'll always be my son, whether you like it or not. But you need to understand that I if I can't trust you, I certainly can't live with you."

Draco nodded. "I can't live with you either then father, for exactly the same reasons," he said. He turned away and walked back down the hall. He stood in the foyer and took one more glance around the cold marble and expensive trappings that had been his home. Feeling as empty and hollow as that vast space, he Disapparated for the last time out of his house.

He made his way back to Diagon Alley, and then turned onto Knockturn Alley. At the back of Borgin and Burke's was a box labeled "Malfoy Portkeys." Draco sat on the floor and placed the box on his lap. He traced the password on the top with his wand and the box opened. He turned the box this way and that carefully so as not to touch anything until he found a giant, lime green foam finger. He stared at the Muggle artifact in distaste, then he swallowed and stuck his hand to it. 

The room spun and shrank around him and he felt himself whirling through time and space. He landed underneath a giant green road sign. "Welcome to New Orleans," it said on the top in reflective white letters. On the bottom it said _"Laissez les bons temps roulez!"_

Draco smiled. He closed his eyes and breathed in the warm, damp, heavily perfumed air, the sun warm on his face. He was free.


	9. 28: Desperation; 29: Vow; 30: Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Draco gone, Narcissa finds the end of her rope, an end that results in an impulsive and near-deadly decision. Following this, in a rare act of contrition, Lucius makes a shocking confession to her. During the Unbreakable Vow, Lucius takes his revenge on Hermione. Hermione starts to understand that she is running out of excuses. Frustrated, and as an absolute last resort, she turns to a classmate for help, only to find none. Afterwards, Hermione finds herself facing the inevitable.
> 
> _"It wasn't martyrdom at all that drove the decision to seduce me, but repressed desire and natural curiosity," Lucius said. "Your need to play the wanton unfortunately lost out to your need to play the sacrificial hero. What a comfort it must be to tell yourself that you were doing it for some greater purpose, and what a shame that it is nothing more than a fiction. I can only imagine the turmoil you must have felt, when shockingly, you found out that you wanted to enjoy yourself, that you wanted to be touched, that you wanted to experience the ecstasy that sex brings. Most egregiously of all, you wanted to experience all this with me and that I was, and still am, only too happy to reciprocate."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, guys. Full disclosure: This is the part where I convey to you, through prose, just how much I dislike Lucius Malfoy's canon character arc (or lack thereof: I'd hardly call it parabolic). I respect J.K. Rowling; obviously, _Harry Potter_ has changed my life and I love the world and the books and the movies beyond all sense and reason. But one of the main reasons that this work is an AU (besides when I started it) is for me to imagine and then write a Lucius Malfoy story arc that I would have wanted to see and could get behind. Thus I can "correct" what I (egotistically) see as a deficit ("I require your wand, Lucius." No. Hell no. Go emasculate someone else, Tom). As you know, fan fiction is about fantasy, and yes, 90% of the time it's sexual (this story is no exception to that, kiddos), but a large part of this story is my head canon fantasy reflecting what I believe truly should have happened to Lucius. So that's what you're going to get.

CHAPTER 28: DESPERATION

Two days had elapsed since Draco's departure and Narcissa still felt numb. Her son, her most precious resource of wholeness and well-being was gone. His absence was not a matter of his simply being at Hogwarts, where she would see him on holidays and could write to him and have him write back, but that he had been absorbed into the void of the unknown. It was unknown where he was, it was unknown if he was safe, and it was unknown if he would ever return. 

The other part of her numbness was intentional in that she kept herself consistently dosed with Augmented Draught of Peace. On this particular morning, the sunlight pouring through her highly-polished windows was making Narcissa's head split. She had drawn the curtains, but it hadn't really seemed to make a difference, so it was back to lying in bed with a cold washcloth over her eyes, the potion muting her body's agonies somewhat. Not that Draught of Peace was an analgesic, but it made her care less about the pain, or about anything for that matter. 

Contact between her and Lucius had been toxic. Narcissa blamed him for Draco leaving. Of course she did; it was Lucius' fault for being gone for two years of Draco's adolescence when Draco needed him most. Then, upon returning, Lucius had pushed him while Draco was in the vulnerable position of re-establishing a relationship with his father, to say nothing of Lucius' betrayal. Because of Lucius' selfish choices, Draco was out of their home and out of their lives. 

For the twentieth time or so in the last 48 hours, tears started to slip down Narcissa's face. She was exhausted with the pain, the grief, the loneliness, and the crushing feeling of guilt. This last one was an emotion for which she judged herself unkindly: feeling guilty was ridiculous; she hadn't been the one to fail Draco. Or had she? It was true that she hadn't been strong enough to protect him from his father, not this time. Lucius had been too quick and too subtle, and Draco too gullible and too eager to please. 

In any event, Narcissa wanted to sleep, and sleep, and sleep some more, to the devil with ever waking up. Not that she wanted to kill herself, but she just couldn't stand being awake a second longer with the suffering that wakefulness implied. That resolved, she removed the cloth from her head, sat up, and moved over to her vanity. She sat down, opened each drawer in turn, and dug around for every vial of Draught of Peace that she had left. Exhausting all of her hiding spots, Narcissa then lined up her remaining stock in a neat row. She had about 10 vials, all with different levels of the milky white potion, but enough, she believed, to ensure a long, obliterating period of unconsciousness. She would no doubt feel better if she could just take some true, unadulterated rest. She popped each top off until they littered the surface of her vanity and fell on the floor. Taking a deep breath, she then knocked each of them back in quick succession. 

The potion hit Narcissa hard and fast and, already reeling, she staggered back to her bed. _I may be in trouble,_ she thought, with a sort of clinical detachment as the room darkened and contracted around her, _that may have been too much._ One second longer and she would not have made it to her bed before her legs failed her. She collapsed on her back, hearing her own breath loud and harsh in her ears. Narcissa closed her eyes and felt as if she was falling into a long, black, never-ending abyss, down and down and down...

The next thing she knew, someone was slapping her face. "Not again. Narcissa, wake up!" Lucius' voice. Strange to hear the panic as he then verbalized some choice profanity. "Not again," he repeated, quietly this time. For a moment, her heart leapt, thinking his alarm was due to the thought of losing her. Then she realized that if she died because of this, Lucius would probably be blamed and this panic of his was likely much more about him than her. 

"Leeme lone." She had a hard time forming words. 

Lucius slapped her again, a lot harder. Narcissa opened her eyes and glared at him before her eyes closed again involuntarily and the abyss yawned before her once more. Lucius forced her to sit up and moved her legs over the side of the bed. _"Rennervate,"_ he said. Alertness came slamming violently back into her as Lucius' spell struck her. Her headache instantly returned tenfold and her stomach heaved. Anticipating this, Lucius had already gathered Narcissa's hair behind her with one hand and tipped her head forward, his other hand firm on her upper arm, just in time for her to be sick on her marble floor. She sat back up and a wave of dizziness passed over her. 

"Get back down," Lucius commanded, tilting her forward once again. Narcissa put her head between her knees and managed to hold onto consciousness, but it was tenuous. Lucius' voice was very far away and difficult to hear over the buzzing in her ears. "Time to go," he said. _Where?_ she wondered, or had she said it out loud? She was unsure. In no time, she felt intense pressure overtake her body as Lucius Side-Along Apparated her. Before she could find out where he was taking her, consciousness left her once more.

***** 

Narcissa woke again in a hospital bed. She opened her eyes and looked around. The clean, crisp white sheets covering her, the St. Mungo's tie-in-the-back gown clothing her body, the wristband with her name and date of birth adorning her wrist, none of these artifacts in her environment gave her any idea of how long she had been there. There was nothing else in the room, no sink, no commode, no over-bed table; in other words, nothing upon which she could hurt herself. Even her bed had no rails of any kind where she could fashion a noose of her bed sheets and secure it. The only other furniture in the room was one ugly metal chair with peeling brown paint and torn vinyl upholstery that her husband now occupied, just next to the bed. The chair was something he had likely coerced out of the staff. His hands were steepled under his chin and his elbows rested on his knees as he stared dispassionately at the green tile floor. His eyes had dark shadows underneath them and he badly needed to shave. "You look awful," Narcissa said, her voice hoarse. 

Lucius turned suddenly at her voice and sat back. "You're only beautiful because I held your hair back," he snapped, but Narcissa had known him long enough to hear the relief behind the sharp retort.

She smiled wistfully. "You think I'm beautiful?" she asked. 

Lucius looked down, his own hair obscuring his face. "On occasion," he muttered, toying with his wedding ring. "In the right light."

Touched, Narcissa smiled sadly. "Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me at Hogwarts?" she asked.

Lucius got up and sat on the edge of her bed. "I'm afraid I don't recall." 

Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment and when she did, the memory appeared as if someone were showing her a picture. She opened them once again. "Yes you do, but I'll tell you anyway. I was 11 and you were 15, the first week of my first year. The same day I got my letter, my mother told me it was likely one of the three of us Black sisters would marry you. I don't even remember how it had come up in conversation that day, but I had myself completely convinced it was me, and by Merlin, I thought I was like a princess in a fairy tale, happily ever after and all that nonsense. I watched you from afar for days, gathering my courage. The day I finally found it, I approached you in the quad, surrounded by all your friends and told you exactly what I believed, that one of us would marry you and it would be me. You told me to come back when I'd grown breasts. Then we could talk." 

Lucius half-smiled at the memory. "That wasn't what you wanted to hear, was it?" he asked.

"What do you think?" 

Lucius inclined his head, conceding. "It was crude, perhaps, and unnecessarily cruel. I was hardly the beacon of decorum and charity then that you see before you today." He studied her. "What would you have preferred, that I courted you? Showered you with disingenuous, vacant compliments, in the manner of James Potter or Sirius Black? Or better yet, shown insincere contrition? Convinced you that, deep down, I was really a kind person? I'm not. My attributes lie elsewhere. Besides, what happened?"

"I don't recall," Narcissa said, making a face.

"You did grow breasts, and very nice ones, I might add. Put another, more refined way, you grew to be the remarkable, strong, beautiful witch I _did_ end up marrying. You also refused to speak to me again until I apologized, many times over. It took three years. And then we did talk. We eventually formed a union, as our families had required. And we made Draco." He stroked her hair. "Happily after ever...and all that nonsense."

Tears came to Narcissa's eyes at the mention of her son's name but she managed not to let them spill this time. "But you never loved me."

"Yes I did. And I do, Narcissa, whether you believe it or not, to the extent that someone like me ever can. It will probably never be sufficient for you, but it's all I have to offer." Unexpectedly, he leaned down and kissed her on the lips. Just as unexpectedly, she kissed him back. 

Narcissa broke first. "But I can't forgive you for Draco, Lucius, I just can't. I thought I could manage the pain, that it would pass, but it hasn't and I find that I despise you for it."

Lucius sighed and looked away. He sat up, but stayed on the bed with her. "I can live with your hatred, Narcissa," he said, his voice quiet. "Draco's too, because it's come to that." He turned his gaze back towards her and Narcissa was stunned to see that he was in as much pain as she was. Almost. These moments of sincerity and vulnerablity were so rare in Lucius, Narcissa could count them on one hand in the almost three decades that she had known him. It was fragile, this moment, and she held her breath, afraid to break it like a soap bubble. Lucius continued. "What I can't live with is the idea that I didn't do everything in my power, that I didn't exhaust every resource to keep our son safe, even if it meant turning my whole family against me." 

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked, her voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. 

"I may not have been completely honest with you about the circumstances surrounding Draco's expulsion," Lucius said, for once sounding hesitant. His eyes flicked away from her, which meant that whatever he was about to say was the truth. He was never as confident when he was forced to admit something or to take responsibility for one of his many wrongdoings. 

_"What?"_ Narcissa hissed. 

"As it turns out, you were right and you were wrong," Lucius said, "I _did_ set him up to fail with Miss Weasley, and then I lied to you about it. However, I did none of it for the reasons you think. I commissioned him to act the assassin, knowing that he would do it out of loyalty to me, but also in full awareness that he was neither savvy enough nor strong enough to carry out the attack without getting caught. Following this, I purposely refused to stand up for him with Dumbledore because it was absolutely necessary that Draco be expelled from Hogwarts on legitimate grounds."

Narcissa gaped at him. This was the lowest point Lucius had ever hit and Narcissa wasn't sure how much more of him she could take. "You manipulative--how could you--" she started.

"It's what _I'm_ good at, what _I_ could do in this situation, and it's imperative that you both hear and understand me now, Narcissa," Lucius cut her off. "I wasn't going to tell you any of this, for your own protection, but with your latest act of desperation, keeping it a secret from you is no longer a choice. Furthermore, I have confidence that you are an accomplished enough Occlumens to keep both yourself and Draco safe, even as you learn this information." 

Narcissa opened her mouth to scold Lucius some more, but thought better of it and shut it again, now perversely intrigued by this new development. Despite everything that had happened between them, not just in the past few days, but in the past few decades, she still found herself searching for good in him. 

Lucius took a deep breath. "Now that he is expelled from Hogwarts, Draco is free to leave England, whether it be to Durmstrang or to the moon, for all I care, all while his departure shall appear completely justified to the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. The most important outcome in all of this is Draco's freedom them and their influence, whatever that takes and has taken, and I am thankful beyond belief that he has been. You've seen what that can lead to in me, and with Draco, it had already begun while I was in Azkaban." 

"He's fine," Narcissa said tightly. "There's honor in serving the Dark Lord; you of all people should know that."

"That's not at all what you said when I first went to prison, Narcissa," Lucius argued, "What you're saying now is about Draco's decision to serve him, not mine. Your reflexive habit of defending Draco's actions, no matter how foolhardy or ignoble, coupled with your desire to keep him close have always posed a threat, and the Dark Lord's return has thrown this into particularly sharp relief." Lucius sighed. "One of us had to act, and it certainly wasn't going to be you; you made that clear from the beginning. Furthermore, it wasn't going to be Draco, nor should it have been. He needed to and still needs to be kept in the dark for his own protection, even if it means hating me." 

When Lucius spoke again, his tone had changed, becoming bleak: "The stark reality is that the Dark Lord isn't going to win this one," he said, staring past Narcissa. "And he will take down everyone in his quest to watch our world burn to the ground, be it a loyal, pristine-blooded, pedigreed Death Eater, or the most filthy-veined, liberal Muggle-lover ever to taint the wizarding world." He looked at her, his eyes haunted, no doubt with Azkaban memories he had buried deep. "Believe me when I tell you that _no_ amount of sacrifice or loyalty is enough to save any of us, Draco included." 

"This is treason, Lucius." Narcissa could not believe what she was hearing and it scared her. 

Lucius sighed again, looking down at his hands. "I'm being honest, Narcissa, as well as pragmatic. As for myself, I don't have much of a choice as I'm sworn to the Dark Lord until I eat death or vice versa, and I bear the Mark, but Draco still has options and I'll burn in Hades before I let him fall in that way." Lucius' words may have been traitorous, but he said them with unwavering conviction. He now looked back at her. "It was to the point that even Dumbledore agreed with me, Narcissa. That's how important this was."

Narcissa felt her eyes widen. It was not something she would have expected, that Lucius would actually trust Dumbledore with anything, particularly something this important, and that Dumbledore would be the slightest bit willing to help. She wondered what exactly Dumbledore had done and how he had helped. Even if Dumbledore had known beforehand that Draco would assault the Weasley girl and had not interfered for the express purposes of legitimately expelling Draco, something didn't add up. If Narcissa really reached, she might see Dumbledore helping, but throwing Ginny Weasley to the wolves in the process, that part didn't make any sense and flew in the face of everything she believed about the Hogwarts Headmaster. Before she had a chance to ask about it, Lucius spoke again. 

"I'm sorry that I lied to you, Narcissa, that I _had_ to lie to you, but you have to understand that I did it with the intention of keeping both you and our son safe, nothing more." He looked at his hands once more, spreading his fingers and then closing them into fists. "It's my inherited, sacred duty to safeguard the Malfoy family, but you're sorely mistaken if you think that this was in any way an easy decision." 

They were both silent for a moment as Narcissa absorbed what Lucius had said to her. As heartbroken as she was, Narcissa too could not ignore the truth of Lucius' words. In fact, she had seen the writing on the wall for a while now. Even earlier, the warning signs had been there although Narcissa hadn't wanted to see them, starting with Lucius' incarceration, which had essentially happened on Lord Voldemort's orders. It had been arbitrary, capricious, and completely unneccessary, a vindictive and childish move to punish Lucius for his errors in the Department of Mysteries, nothing more. Then there was Narcissa's sister: Lord Voldemort even treated Bellatrix as if she was no more than grist for the mill and she was without a doubt his most devoted, obsessive, infatuated follower. 

Narcissa still felt angry that Lucius had seen fit to destroy his relationship with Draco in the process of clearing him. On the other hand, she had to admit that if it kept Draco safe, as Lucius had said, nothing else in the world mattered. If nothing else, Lucius' actions towards him would keep Draco from wanting to come back, cold comfort though it was. 

"I have to go," Lucius broke the silence. He stood up and gathered his robe from where he had left it on the chair.

"Where?"

"Home, for one, to attend to basic necessities. Additionally, I need to sign papers to keep you in the hospital for a while."

She sat up as well, and regretted it instantly as it made her head hurt. "What? You're committing me?"

"This is the third time, Narcissa. You need help. I can heal you easily enough, but I can't watch you day and night and keep you safe from yourself."

"You're just trying to get me out of the way."

"You sound exactly like your mother right now, you know."

Narcissa rewared him with a dark look.

Lucius spoke again, "But you need time away from me and away from Malfoy Manor, for your own sake, for Draco's sake, and for the sake of our family in general. And you also need to dry out from the Draught." 

"So you know best, is that it?" Narcissa sneered.

Lucius nodded. "About this, yes, I do."

Narcissa sighed in annoyance. "Just get out."

"I will, but before I do..."

"I don't want to hear it." Narcissa turned her face away from him.

Lucius shrugged. "Suit yourself." He put his robe back on with exaggerated nonchalance, "but you should just be aware that I know exactly where Draco is." He removed invisible lint from one sleeve. 

"You're lying," Narcissa said, but her heart leapt. It was too good to be true. Tentatively, she let her eyes meet his once again. 

"You don't believe me?" 

"Why would I believe anything you have to say?" Narcissa asked vehemently.

Lucius glared at her, starting to lose patience. "Because in a singular act of good faith, I just told you a terrible truth, putting myself at great risk in the process."

Narcissa had to hand him that one, and relented slightly. "But he vanished without a trace; no one knows where he went," she argued, but softened her tone slightly. "He took almost none of his personal belongings. So, how could you possibly know where he is?"

Lucius smirked. "I can do magic, you know." 

Narcissa shook her head. If she had had anything within her reach to throw at him, she would have, but she was in a safe room, so all she could do is scowl at him. 

Lucius became serious once more. "He's in New Orleans."

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "In the States?" They didn't know anyone there, but if her memory served, one of the dusty Portkeys of theirs in Borgin & Burke's was for New Orleans. She couldn't remember when Lucius had made it, or specifically why, aside from the fact that New Orleans was one of the most magically-active cities in the United States. She wasn't even aware that Draco knew of the Portkey's existence, but it apparently didn't matter now. 

"Do you know of another?" Lucius asked. "Of course, he can't operate a motor vehicle or speak Spanish, or do any of the other things American wizards seem to find useful, so I'm not certain what he'll do over there. It should be interesting in any event."

"But how...?"

"You said he 'vanished without a trace.' A fine choice of words, Narcissa."

"You re-established the Trace? How?"

"I placed an enchantment on his trust fund, the day after I was released from Azkaban. Whenever he has any interaction with that money, depositing, transferring, withdrawing, spending, loaning, anything...the spell tracks it and provides visual confirmation as well." Lucius looked inordinately pleased with himself as he said it, but to be fair, if it was true, it was pretty brilliant magic.

"You'll be able to see him?" Narcissa asked, hope edging into her voice. 

Lucius stood. "Not me," he said. He took something out of his pocket and tossed it on the bed, "You." 

Narcissa sat up and grasped the object. It was a gold locket with the Malfoy _M_ engraved on the back. Fingers trembling, she opened it. Inside showed Draco paying a cab driver. "741 Royal Street, please," Draco said, looking around the inside of the cab with a sort of disgusted fascination. Tears slipped down Narcissa's face. She looked up at Lucius, now at the door. 

"Thank you," she whispered.

Lucius' smirk left his face and he looked at her with rarely-glimpsed compassion. "Never doubt my love for you," he said, and then walked out, closing the door behind him. 

Narcissa laid back in the bed and stared at Draco's face until she drifted into the first peaceful, un-drugged sleep she had had in days. 

CHAPTER 29: VOW

Hermione traced the ancient graffiti on the oak table with her finger, wondering idly who _WKH_ was and why he or she thought _TSY_ was a wanker. It was too bad she would likely never find out. Unsated curiosity was about the worst thing ever as far as she was concerned, not that the day was a particularly good one to be dwelling on unsated curiosity. It was the day of the Mediation and, with how she had left things with Lucius, she was both dreading and anticipating their next encounter. She felt ambivalent about their previous meeting, embarrassed about how she had acted, but at the same time proud that she had not given into him. However, she was desperately curious about what would have happened if she had. Lucius' offer was tempting to a dangerous extent, for any number of reasons, and the worst part was, it was still open.

Draco was missing and good for him, although Hermione knew that Dumbledore wanted him to take part. She looked around the table. Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, flanked by Professors Snape and McGonagall. Hermione sat between Professor McGonagall and Ginny, who had been discharged from St. Mungo's two days prior. 

Hermione looked at them in turn. Dumbledore looked calm, but when he smiled at her, his eyes carried sadness that she had not seen in him previously. Or maybe it was disappointment, Hermione couldn't tell. She hadn't told him anything about her misadventures at Malfoy Manor, but she suspected that he knew nonetheless. Snape sat back, arms folded, his dark eyes inscrutable. Professor McGonagall occupied herself shuffling papers in an attempt to get everything in order, efficient as always. Ginny stared intently at the table, her eyes far away, her arms folded, her body language closed and defensive. They had not spoken much since Ginny had gotten out of the hospital. They were polite to each other of course, but the bond was long-since broken and Hermione found that she had neither the fortitude nor the interest to heal it at this time, and Ginny didn't seem to either. Too much had passed between them, and only time would help at this point.

Just then the door opened and shut. Hermione looked up and felt a regrettable thrill in her abdomen as Lucius walked in. He turned and looked at each of them, his eyes resting longest on Hermione. Dumbledore finally spoke. "Welcome, Lucius. Please sit down." Not friendly certainly, but civil, fair. Lucius obliged, taking the chair next to Professor Snape, directly opposite Hermione. He continued to look at her, not leering precisely, but definitely attempting to put her on edge, a feat at which he was succeeding with his intense stare. Hermione finally looked away, but could still feel his eyes on her. 

Lucius took a scroll out of his robes and handed it to Dumbledore. "My terms," he said. He tapped his fingers on the table while Dumbledore unrolled it, scanned it through his half-moon spectacles, and then nodded. Professor McGonagall passed Lucius the terms that they had drafted for Hermione and Ginny. The gist of the document was a contract for safety and non-disclosure from all represented parties. 

Hermione accepted the document Dumbledore passed her and read it. Lucius' was also a non-disclosure agreement as well as a promise not to attempt to blackmail the Malfoys again, inoffensive enough to trigger Hermione's suspicions. It was obvious that he had been through this sort of thing before, but she couldn't help but wonder if he had something else up his sleeve. After all, Lucius had referred to her last choice regarding him as an act of war, so Hermione felt she would be foolish not to have her guard up. 

Of course, Hermione had no idea what Lucius had planned. She looked around the table at the others seated there and relaxed a bit as she realized he could actually do very little or possibly nothing with her surrounded by allies or at least disinterested parties, in Hogwarts, in the middle of the school day. This time the war was being waged on, if not Hermione's ground, at least neutral ground. Thus, she couldn't imagine what weapons Lucius could possibly use against her in their current situation. That thought made her heart lighter and she breathed a little easier.

Hermione took a quill from the pile in the center of the table and dashed off a signature. She surreptitiously looked at Lucius across from her and saw that he was also making his mark, a signature in effortless, graceful Edwardian script. He looked up, caught her glance, and smiled. "Take a picture," he said softly, "it lasts longer." Hermione blushed. Snape smirked. McGonagall looked at Lucius sternly. "What?" Lucius asked. "Too soon?"

"Enough," Dumbledore said. 

Around the table, Ginny signed her terms, as well as Snape and McGonagall, which were likely non-disclosure agreements. 

The smirk faded from Lucius' face. "So we're finished here?"

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to smile. "Not quite," he said. "Miss Granger and Miss Weasley have requested Unbreakable Vows."

Lucius raised an eyebrow and set his quill aside. He folded his hands in front of him. "Really? And why would you think I'd consent to something that extreme?"

Ginny's eyes snapped up from the table, "Because you kidnapped and tortured me, which, if I pressed charges, would send you back to Azkaban."

Lucius looked at her frostily. "Although I find it passing strange that you haven't even told your parents about these allegations. But yes, kidnapping and torturing you _would_ send me back to Azkaban if you could prove that it ever happened, but you can't do that, can you? It's your word against mine, you know. Care to venture how that might turn out?" He turned back to Dumbledore without bothering to wait for an answer. "This was your idea, wasn't it?"

"No, Lucius," Dumbledore said tranquilly. "But surely even you must see the wisdom in this. You're a convicted felon."

"Exonerated felon," Lucius corrected him, "and it's remarkable how quickly those transgressions have been forgiven, even by some of my most strident critics. As it turns out, there's not a lot that money won't buy."

"It was my idea," Hermione spoke up. 

Lucius shifted his glance to her. "You do realize that this Unbreakable Vow is going to be the reciprocal sort, with inviolable terms that _you_ are going to have to abide by as well? Your life is going to rely quite literally on your ability to keep quiet." 

Hermione nodded. "But you don't want to go back to Azkaban, nor do you want your name in the papers. And we would like to stay _safe_." She put deliberate emphasis on the last word and Lucius looked at her sharply.

"My name in the papers?" he repeated. "I found out that Rita Skeeter was not your contact, so now I shall put the question to you once again, is that likely to happen?" No one spoke. He looked at the others. "Anyone?"

Dumbledore finally spoke up. "Their actual contact, who was not Rita, as you have surmised, sought me out and I erased his memory of the whole affair and destroyed the pictures he had, a fact that I am prepared to swear to now if it would reassure you. After today, the chance of the story ever coming out is minimal, seeing as how everyone who knew anything is sitting here in this room. Ergo, unless Draco or Narcissa speak of it, which I'm sure you'll agree is unlikely, the secret will keep. The rest of the pictures are here, including the negatives." He pushed an envelope over to Lucius. "Total containment, Lucius."

Lucius opened the envelope and looked inside without taking its contents out and then nodded. "Fine," he said. "Who's the Bonder?" 

"I am," Professor McGonagall replied.

Lucius nodded once again; Professor McGonagall was the most neutral person in the room by far. 

"I'll go first," Ginny said, standing.

"Everyone else may be excused," McGonagall said, standing as well. The rest of the room cleared. Hermione walked out with Professor Snape and Dumbledore. The two of them talked for a moment, before Professor Snape exited himself, not sparing Hermione another glance. Hermione imagined that Snape was relieved to finally be done with the entire mess and did not blame him his hasty departure.

Hermione and Dumbledore waited patiently. The spell could be cast with witnesses, but it was stronger with just the three involved parties. After a few moments, Ginny came out. "Your turn," she said quietly. 

"How did it go?" Hermione asked her.

"As easy as falling off a broom," Ginny answered, but Hermione noticed that Ginny did not meet her eyes. Ginny gave her one more awkward look and then followed the way Snape had gone.

Hermione looked at Dumbledore. He smiled and nodded encouragement. "One more step, and then it's well and truly done, Miss Granger," he said. 

She nodded back at him. "Done," Herimone repeated. She screwed up her courage and pushed the door open. 

"Are you ready, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Yes, are you ready, Miss Granger?" Lucius said, smiling at Hermione. 

She nodded. 

McGonagall took out her wand. "Which of you would like to start?"

"I'll start, Professor," Lucius said. "After all, it's Miss Granger's first time. I certainly wouldn't want it to be uncomfortable." He held out his left hand, the side with the Dark Mark.

Hermione glared at him, cursing him silently for enjoying this so much. _One more step, and then it's well and truly done,_ Dumbledore's words came back, but they rang false in Hermione's ears. Reluctantly, she reached out and took Lucius' wrist. He, in turn, clasped hers. She could feel her pulse jumping against his closed hand and could feel his pulse under her closed hand. She could swear that her heart was going about twice as fast as his. 

The contact between her flesh and his brought back sudden flashes of memory that stunned Hermione in their strength, as if they were somehow amplified. _Did you think we were finished, Miss Granger?_ In her mind, she was back in the hospital wing, with Lucius pushing her legs apart one at a time with his hands. _No more pain, only pleasure._ She tried to clear her mind and looked up at him, meeting his coldly amused gaze. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing that she was. His gray eyes traveled down her body and then back up again, once again meeting hers. Hermione shivered. That was a yes. 

She had expected some tension between them upon meeting and touching again, but this was ten times worse than she had expected. It was as if every beat of his heart, every pulse that moved from his wrist into her hand pushed desire into her and there was nothing she could do to resist it. Hermione wanted to let go, but at the same time, she didn't dare. She closed her eyes again, but it was a bad decision as every time she did, memory would assault her, how Lucius' fingers intertwined with hers as he pushed into her. How she looked up at him, serpents coiling on his body-- _Look at it now or I'll stop_ \--the Dark Mark-- _Knowing perfectly well what I am_ \--

Professor McGonagall's wand on their clasped hands brought her back to the present. "Lucius Malfoy, will you, of your own free will, swear an Unbreakable Vow to Hermione Granger?"

"I will," he answered. What looked like glowing red wire moved slowly out of Professor McGonagal's wand and started wrapping around their hands. 

"Will you swear not to harm Hermione Granger?"

"I will."

"Will you swear that you will not commission any associates to harm Hermione Granger?"

"I will." Every new question and response brought forth a new band, encircling their hands. 

"And will you swear not to speak, write, or otherwise communicate any of what transpired between yourself and Hermione Granger from May 20th to May 25th of this year to anyone other than Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Malfoy or myself, Minerva McGonagall?"

"I will." 

There was a pause. McGonagal turned her attention to Hermione. "Hermione Granger, will you, of your own free will, swear an Unbreakable Vow to Lucius Malfoy?" Lucius smiled down at Hermione, predatorily. He moved his middle finger down lightly, stroking the inside of her forearm. Hermione closed her eyes and she was back on the couch in Malfoy Manor, bare back submitting to his skilled hands-- _want you to become my mistress_ \--his lips on her neck-- 

"I will," Hermione whispered. Was she responding to the question about being his mistress, or-- _Oh, yes, the Vow._ She opened her eyes and cleared her throat. "I will," she repeated.

"Will you swear not to blackmail any of the Malfoy family?"

"I will." Back and forth Lucius' finger moved, lightly. Hermione felt the now-familiar warmth and pressure, nowhere near his hand, as if he was touching her there instead. Her breath sped up and she fought to control it, to stay focused even as she felt herself becoming increasingly damp. _How is this happening?_ she wondered, _his fingers are on your wrist, not on your--_

McGonagall's voice pulled Hermione back to reality. "Will you swear not to speak, write, or otherwise communicate any of what transpired between you and Lucius Malfoy from May 20th to May 25th of this year to anyone other than the aforementioned parties?"

"I will." Two fingers now, moving alternatively back and forth. More magical bonds formed around their wrists, these white, now overlapping the red, binding the two of them together. Hermione was back on the couch, Lucius' hand traveling up her thigh, now the thoughts were invading her mind with her eyes open. _You may as well admit it, you enjoyed it last time and the best part is, I wasn't even trying then. You can't even imagine what it's like when I do._ She blinked hard and opened her eyes, sweat beading her upper lip. She could definitely feel his fingers on her and in her, coaxing out her pleasure, it wasn't just her overheated imagination, she didn't think, and yet it wasn't possible unless...there was magic going on. Hermione made herself stare at the Vow bonds, in an attempt to ignore the profound distraction occurring between her legs. Her vision tunneled in on the bonds and she breathed in and out slowly in an attempt to calm her mind even as she felt herself electrified with intense longing. 

"Will you swear not to disclose details of any future dealings with Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione's head snapped up. That definitely had not been part of the written terms. She looked at him, surprised. Still wearing that same vulpine smile, Lucius nodded, almost imperceptibly. Before she could stop herself, Hermione said, "I will." Lucius' eyes widened a fraction, just as they had when she had first offered herself to him. _What did you just do?_ Hermione asked herself. 

"It is done," Professor McGonagal said. She removed her wand and the bonds dissipated. Hermione immediately dropped Lucius' wrist. He held onto her for just a moment before letting go of her. Hermione swallowed, her throat dry. Something else was at work, but she couldn't figure out what. Even without touching her, she could still feel the pressure of his hand on her. Hermione's heart was still racing and she was breathing hard, but trying to pretend that she wasn't. McGonagall was looking at her suspiciously. Hermione glanced away quickly: she could think of nothing more mortifying than getting worked up in front of one of the most strict, disciplined professors at Hogwarts. Hermione focused on slowing down her breathing, in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to clear her mind and body of whatever toxin or magic Lucius had just exposed her to. 

"Will you please excuse us for just a moment, Professor?" Lucius' tone was deferential and even charming as he spoke to McGonagall.

"I'm afraid that's not a good idea," McGonagal said severely, her eyes flicking to Hermione. 

"Please, Professor, I'll be fine," Hermione heard herself say. _Stop. Stop, stop, stop,_ she told herself. 

Lucius smiled at McGonagall. "Really, Professor, I just swore an Unbreakable Vow not to harm her. What could possibly go wrong?"

Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione, then at Lucius, and then back and Hermione once again. Sighing in a way that indicated that she realized she couldn't save Hermione from herself, McGonagall said "Very well, Miss Granger." Gathering her robes, she exited, closing the door behind her.

They both watched her go and then turned around and faced each other once again. Lucius spoke first. "Well, Miss Granger, you've got me alone. Now what?" 

Hermione found she didn't have an answer for him. She didn't really know what she was hoping for, or even doing. It was over. She should have run out the door and away from him. And yet she stayed, and had agreed to the future clause, slipped craftily in at the last moment. All she could do now was lean her rear end against the table and press her knees together with her hands on her thighs kneading her skirt compulsively, head down, trying to ignore her body's unrelenting need to be filled, to be pleasured. 

"Are you ready this time to accept my offer? I suspect the answer is yes, otherwise you would have wisely left this room with Professor McGonagall...The table seems solid enough," Lucius said, "although we're going to have to hurry and you're going to have to be quieter than last time because this is, after all, a school." 

hermione found that she had lost the ability to move or speak. Her heart had not slowed down at all. Lucius stood between her and the exit, blocking her between him and the table. He slowly closed the distance. Hermione now gripped the table behind her, to avoid pulling him to her. 

"What did you do to me during the Vow?" Hermione asked.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely nothing," he said, but his smirk belied his statement. He was definitely doing something, and not even bothering to hide it very well. 

"You're lying." It wasn't even a question, and Hermione felt imprudent for ever believing there was nothing Lucius could do to her in Hogwarts, in the middle of the day, with her allies around. It had been careless to underestimate his resolve again, and now she was paying the price for her own hubris.

Lucius sighed. "Not about this, I'm afraid," he said. "Is this starting to feel familiar to you?" He moved to her side.

"You didn't use magic?" Hermione asked.

"Do you know what magic actually is?" His lips brushed her ear and she shivered. "It's an extreme degree of power over the environment around you. I could tell you to spread your legs and take you right here on this table, because of the power you've chosen to grant me, but is that really magic? The question is, should I do it now, or should I wait until you're begging me to do it? I warned you it would be more difficult to say no this time around, and honestly, I don't know why you're still resisting me. It must be exhausting." 

Hermione closed her eyes. Instantly, the picture of having Lucius in her right then and there, with her professors just outside the door popped into her head and her clit seemed to spasm within her in response. Her breath caught. It was easily his best idea to date. He was right; it was getting far more difficult to say no, and why should she? She felt her legs move apart. Almost of its own volition, her right hand drifted up her inner thigh under her skirt. She ran her fingers over her pussy, feeling wet even through her underwear and gasped at the feeling that shot through her. 

"Whatever are you doing, Miss Granger?" 

Hermione started, opened her eyes, and snatched her hand away, her face red. She was wrong; having McGonagall witness her getting turned on by Lucius Malfoy was not the most mortifying thing that could happen in this situation, having the self-same Dark Wizard witness her touching herself secondary to something he had done was. 

Lucius watched Hermione, his affect amused and more than a little turned on. "Don't stop on my account," he said. "You're safe from my desire, at least today, as I don't believe you yet want it badly enough." 

Hermione glared at him.

Lucius pulled away from her. "That doesn't frustrate you, does it?" he asked in a soft voice. 

Hermione could have hit him. She didn't know what she was more angry about, that he would dare to poison her, or that he would do nothing to alleviate her need for release, or that she was responding to him as strongly as she was. "You're using contact poison," she said firmly, although most of her shuddered in disappointment, "on your left hand. I knew there was something suspect about the fact that you used your non-dominant hand for the vow. Did you use your right or your left with Ginny?"

"I used the side you've always been partial to, Miss Granger," Lucius answered smoothly, "the _sinister_ side; your favorite side. Surely you must remember that."

"And if you switch from right to left, you can poison me without poisoning Ginny, can't you?"

Lucius sighed in exasperation. "How, Miss Granger? If I were using contact poison on my hand, I'd be poisoning myself too, you know." 

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know how you did it," she said, "but I know you did something, and knowing you, it was something awful, something no decent wizard would ever even consider." 

"Decent wizard?" Lucius said. "Is that you, then?"

"What?" Hermione asked. "I mean, yes..." She still refused to look at him, staring resolutely at the window as he spoke once more. 

"Believe me, Miss Granger, you lost the moral high ground a long time ago if you ever really had it in the first place."

"I did it for the Order," Hermione said, even while knowing she sounded petulant. The truth was, they both knew she was running out of excuses. 

Lucius smirked. "Ah yes, the brave and noble Order of the Phoenix," he said. He moved closer once again and dropped his voice. "The time has come, Miss Granger, for you to make up your mind about your role in the affair. Your first, most comfortable, _safest_ option is to consider yourself a martyr, taking one for the team as it were by undertaking the degrading but necessary assignment of seducing me for my silver dragon blood. I imagine that you thought that everyone of note had sacrificed something for the Order and you too wanted to do something important, something to prove your mettle. In fact, viewing it as a sacrifice is what has allowed you to maintain your untarnished reputation in your own mind, and in any one else's mind who has subsequently found out what you, or perhaps I should say what _we_ did." 

"Well, congratulations, it seems you've figured it out," Hermione said through clenched teeth. She faced away from Lucius now and folded her arms. 

"Have I indeed? You forget that I haven't yet told you the other option."

"Which is?"

"It wasn't martyrdom at all that drove the decision to seduce me, but repressed desire and natural curiosity. Your need to play the wanton unfortunately lost out to your need to play the sacrificial hero. What a comfort it must be to tell yourself that you were doing it for some greater purpose, and what a shame that it is nothing more than a fiction. I can only imagine the turmoil you must have felt, when shockingly, you found out that you wanted to enjoy yourself, that you wanted to be touched, and that you wanted to experience the ecstasy that sex brings. Most egregiously of all, you wanted to experience all this with me and that I was, and still am, only too happy to reciprocate." 

"I prefer the first one," Hermione said shortly.

"Oh, no doubt you do," Lucius said with a smile, "But it is a lie, as almost everything you believe about how you feel about me is a lie, to say naught of the actual lies you've told me in the past. In reality, I can't trust a single syllable that comes out of that mouth of yours, and I could put that mouth to far better uses than lying to me." 

"Such as what?" Hermione snapped.

Lucius looked scandalized. "Apologizing, of course, Miss Granger. What were _you_ thinking about?"

Hermione felt her face heat up, but said nothing. 

Lucius smirked for a moment, before becoming serious once more. "After all the ways that you have obscured or denied the truth both to yourself and to me, are you still feeling superior now?"

After a moment, Hermione shook her head. 

To her surprise, Lucius smiled once again. "Then this is perfect," he said. 

"What about it is perfect?" Hermione asked darkly.

"This late in the game, your compunction is doing nothing more than getting in the way, Your morality is a myth, at least where I'm concerned, as I've just explained, so at this point, there should be no more barriers between you and me. Everything that I've done both today and the other night at my house has been in an effort to break down any remaining barriers between us." 

"Such as the future clause?"

"Precisely. If you agree not to disclose future dealings with me, as I offered last time, I can impart my wisdom to you as a Dark Arts practitioner with a clear conscience. We can also engage in acts of consensual adult enjoyment with impunity, and I can certainly teach you about that as well, and unlike Dark Arts, that teaching can be undertaken in a practical way." He looked at her body meaningfully.

"It doesn't mean it's going to happen," Hermione said, but she could tell that neither of them believed it.

"It absolutely is going to happen, Miss Granger," Lucius said. "There's no virtue in your resistance, despite what you may think. Your life will improve dramatically when you accept the inevitable."

"What makes you so sure?" Hermione asked. "Besides your insufferable arrogance, I mean..."

Lucius explained patiently. "First of all, you agreed to the future non-disclosure clause, so clearly, even you don't think we're done. And this time around, I can't hurt you and you can't blackmail me. As much as I dislike rules, this particular set of restrictions is remarkably freeing for both of us, as it eliminates all other variables. No more pain, only pleasure. In fact, I'm so confident that you'll come around, that I'm not going to ask you again; you'll come to me. As to further barriers and restrictions, they remain only in your mind, so you'll have to identify what they are yourself and eliminate them, sooner rather than later, one would hope. 

"Second of all, I'm going to make a non-magical prophecy: when your acne-ridden teenage boyfriend is pumping away ineffectually on top of you for the two minutes or so that he'll last, and you're counting the ceiling tiles in boredom...well, I don't have to tell you to think of me, because I'm confident that you will, just as you'll think of me when you're touching yourself later because you're still not satisfied. In fact, I would encourage you to do just that. If you understand what causes you pleasure, it will make it that much easier for me later." Lucius moved next to her and once again whispered in her ear. "And I would guess that after this visit, you'll have to let your fingers finish their mischievous work or you'll go mad." He pulled away from her, now businesslike. "No, more to the point, send me an owl. One word only, that word being yes. I'll take it from there." 

He then turned from her, grabbed the envelope with the remaining pictures and headed for the exit.

CHAPTER 30: DENIAL

Time passed. Hermione threw herself into her remaining schoolwork, her friends, anything to distract from the turmoil of the last few weeks. It worked, for the most part, but she still had dreams. As time went on, the dreams increased in frequency and intensity almost as if the more she tried to avoid it, the more it invaded her thoughts. In her real life, Lucius had been almost conspicuously absent. If he was coming to Hogwarts, he was being extremely subtle, as she had not seen him once, despite his being on the Board and presumably attending meetings and such. There was no question in Hermione's mind that his avoidance of her was deliberate.

At night, in her mind, she did that which she had sworn not to do again countless times, in countless ways. She had done it back in the hospital bed where it had all started. In Malfoy Manor, on the couch in front of the blazing fire. On the table after the Mediation. And the end was always the same, with her waking right before that sweet moment of release, her thighs damp, her sheets soaked with sweat. Mostly out of spite, she refused to touch herself, even after the delicious agony of the Vow, although had she been successful at it, it would have done a great deal to mitigate her stress, if nothing else. 

Hermione was sure that Lucius had used some poison on her during the Vow. She dared not ask Ginny which hand he had used on her, as it would have opened her up to all sorts of awkward questions. But Lucius had a point, if it had been a contact poison, it would have affected him as well. She should have seen it coming. He had said it was going to be more difficult to resist him and he was not above applying pressure on her using illicit means. This was doubly true in light of the fact that Hermione had broken her word to him. Lucius would most assuredly take his revenge, and of course he would cheat and use every weapon in his arsenal to bring about his own ends. _Also, he's just pushing you in a direction you're heading in anyway,_ a wicked little voice inside her head told her.

What bothered Hermione most was the fact that she couldn't for the life of her figure out how Lucius had done it. However, the most unbelievable part of the Vow was the fact that Lucius hadn't pressed his advantage as hard as he possibly could. Whatever poison he had used was strong enough to elicit a powerful psychological and physical reaction. Had he wished to, Lucius could have easily had his way with her. Between the toxin and the feelings she now felt compelled to admit that she had, Hermione knew that she would have let him do whatever he wanted, six ways from Sunday, and been grateful for every second of it. On the other hand, the fact that he hadn't chosen to do just that confirmed that Lucius had indeed used magical coercion, which by all rights stripped consent, that strange line he had drawn in the sand from the first and had never set so much as a toe across. That, or he was the worst tease in the history of wizardry. Probably both.

Granted, as Lucius had said, the majority of the power he held over Hermione was power she herself had granted him. She had enabled the pleasure spell the first time, even though it was a lie. That said, the lie was given significant power through her own will, power enough to convince her that she would come because of a spell Lucius had cast, even though it had stemmed only from her mind in an epic placebo effect. 

It had been so artfully done, the whole thing. Making it hurt that first time so Hermione would have no recourse but to accept an end to the pain in the form of pleasure, which in turn, made her crave it again. But at the end of the day, Lucius was right: it had been her choice. He had warned her too that accepting that pleasure from him would have far-reaching consequences. She couldn't stand the thought of living in a world where Lucius Malfoy was right. And yet, irrevocably, she wanted him and her desire had become an all-consuming, obsessive juggernaut of need. It was such a distraction, particularly at night, that she took to sneaking Firewhiskey, keeping a bottle in a hollowed out textbook, stashed under her bed. 

She didn't drink to get drunk, but mostly to medicate herself into some sort of restful sleep. It worked, to some extent, and if it didn't work, it made her not care so much about everything that had happened. However, it was taking more and more to do the trick lately, to the point that she spent most of her nights in a stupor and her days with a raging headache, dry mouth, and exhaustion. 

When she wasn't thinking about sex, Hermione pored over every potion book she could find in an effort solve the mystery of the contact lust potion. The ones in the Restricted Section were particularly illuminating, as they talked about different sorts of sex magic. Despite what Hermione had told Lucius about the Restricted Section, being Head Girl had its privileges, including circumventing the elaborate policy she had detailed to him at his request that night at Malfoy Manor. 

Hermione's search wasn't without merit: one potion of note she had found in _Moste Potente Potions_ was called Prima Nocte. It was comprised of "the man's seed and the virgin's first blood," and could be brewed by either party. It was a love potion, a potent one and was very specific to the two individuals. Come to think of it, Hermione had recalled with distaste, she hadn't seen what Lucius had done with the towel after they were done, and because of her lack of experience, she had no idea if he had come inside of her or not. It wasn't as if Lucius was above faking it to bring about his own agenda. This was so far her best guess, but nothing was certain, and of course, none of it could be proved. 

When her grades started to slip, Hermione cut back on the drinking, but the dreams came back instantly. After another sleepless week, she knocked back one third of the Firewhiskey bottle and eventually passed out. She woke up about three hours later, still mildly intoxicated. It was about four in the morning. She had to go to the bathroom, which she did, holding the walls for support. Profoundly thirsty, she drank directly from the sink and then splashed water on her face and looked in the mirror. The face staring back at her didn't even seem like hers, all cheekbones standing out in sharp relief, dark hollows under her eyes. She made a face; she looked like her own ghost. She rubbed her eyes and felt dizzy, so immediately opened them again. 

On her way back to bed, Hermione noticed a light on in the common room. Curious, she traipsed down the stairs. Cormac McLaggen sat on the couch, tucked into an alcove, reading a Quidditch book, his curling hair catching the light from the embers in the fire. His mouth moved as he read. 

Upon seeing him, Hermione made up her mind in the obstinate way that intoxicated people often do. She had to get Lucius out of her mind by any means necessary and here was the perfect opportunity to do so, and if this didn't work, well...she didn't like to think about it. Cormac McLaggen liked her. Although it was wrong to take advantage of that, Hermione's current mental state was totally unsustainable; something had to give and she knew Cormac would be compliant with what she had in mind. Enthusiastically compliant. Hermione took a deep breath and walked around the couch, not making any attempt to be quiet, so as not to startle him. He looked up from his reading and did a double take, suprised and yet pleased to find her there.

Hermione smiled at him sleepily. "Hey," she said, dragging the word out. "What are you reading?" She sat down next to him, making sure her thigh touched his and leaned over his book, letting her breasts touch his arm. She was wearing fitted v-neck cotton t-shirt and knit shorts, hardly alluring, but without a bra, she could do what needed to be done. It was cheap, a Lavender Brown signature move, but if it worked for her, it would certainly work for Hermione.

Cormac raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's a retrospective about the Cannons from 1965 to 1975..." he spoke to her erect nipples, launching into a detailed description. Hermione nodded and smiled, stifling a yawn at the same time. 

"You know, Cormac," she interrupted him finally, "we're almost done here at Hogwarts. Hard to believe, isn't it?" 

He looked at her and nodded, apparently at a loss for words.

Hermione licked her lips. "I've always liked you," she said. 

Cormac smiled. He was actually sort of cute when he smiled. Particularly if he smiled and didn't talk. And there was no arguing that he had a nice body, built like a brick outhouse, but with chiseled curves and angles for all that. Maybe she really only did fancy Quidditch players. _Had Lucius played Quidditch?_ she found herself wondering, before feeling angry at the distraction. _Focus, Hermione, focus..._ "Well, uh, Hermione, you know I've, uh, always..." Cormac cleared his throat. "I mean, what I'm trying to say is, uh..." he cleared his throat again. His discomfort was endearing.

Hermione moved in, inches from his face. "Do you want to kiss me?" she whispered. 

Cormac nodded, closing the gap. His lips were soft and she opened her mouth under them. He immediately pushed his tongue inside her mouth, opening wide. Mostly, it reminded her of being at the dentist. She shook off the feeling and pressed on with grim determination. She leaned back on the couch and pulled him on top of her. 

He kissed her with what Hermione could only consider to be enthusiasm, making little moaning noises. His hand moved up to her breast and she didn't move to stop him as he eagerly groped her. She closed her eyes and immediately regretted it as Lucius' face immediately came to mind, wearing that familiar, predatory smile. Hermione opened her eyes again. 

Now Cormac untied his robe and pushed her hand between his legs. Hermione grasped what she found down there, hard and ready for her. His hand closed over hers and stroked up and down. He moaned again as she moved her hand along the shaft of his cock. "Will you use your mouth on me?" he asked. "Please?"

 _At least he's polite,_ Hermione thought as he let her up. He opened up his bathrobe and there it was, his cock lying flat against his abdomen, his hips creating a v-shape above. She knelt on the floor in front of him and took him in her mouth, by turns licking at him and then taking him in her mouth, up and down. She closed her eyes again. There Lucius was and now it was his cock in her mouth. _Making an effort would kill you?_

Hermione's eyes snapped open again. She added her hand in, moving it up and down the shaft as she sucked on Cormac once again. His moans intensified and, afraid he would end too soon, Hermione stopped. She got up and slipped out of her shorts and underwear. She lay back down on the couch in front of him. She slowly spread her legs, enjoying the heat in Cormac's gaze as he stared at her with unbridled lust. He may not have been Lucius, but Hermione found that she was still enjoying the power she had over him.

Hermione smiled at Cormac. "Come on," she whispered, "time to end it." He knelt between her legs and she guided him into her. It didn't hurt this time, but it also didn't feel terrific. Hermione frowned. He pulled back and pushed once again, moaning. "Shhh..." Hermione said. She adjusted herself underneath him. He moved in and out of her, but it was nowhere near the same. He went faster, as if that would help. His hips slapped hers, over and over, now breathing harder. _At least one of us is enjoying this,_ Hermione thought. 

Hermione stared at the ceiling as Cormac thrust in and out of her. The stones of the ceiling met in an arch as in the rest of the castle, two arches meeting in an X, over and over. Each one had a keystone and Hermione noticed, for the first time in seven years at Hogwarts, that each one was actually different from the others. She wondered how many different ones there were in the common room alone. As Cormac humped his way towards climax, his breathing intensifying, Hermione started to count. 

And immediately stopped as she realized in horror what she was doing. Two more thrusts and Cormac pulled out of her, coming on her thigh. He lay back on the couch, breathing hard. Hermione slowly moved her legs together, somewhat stiff. She sat up and then stood, using her underwear to clean off her legs. She put her shorts back on.

Next to her, Cormac had already fallen asleep with his mouth open, still naked but for his robe still hanging off of his arms. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thanks for returning the favor," she muttered, thinking of Lucius' words about insisting on her own pleasure every time. She smirked. Had she been Lucius, she would have smacked Cormac across the face to wake him up and insisted that he finish her off using his fingers, or maybe his tongue. In her situation, Lucius probably would have made a quip about Cormac's fingers still being fully erect, even if his cock was not. Not that it would likely matter; if Cormac was as inept with those alternative measures as he was with what was between his legs, Hermione was out of luck either way.

Instead, Hermione sighed and closed Cormac's robe back up and put the book back in his hand. It was for the best. She would pretend that it never happened. He fell asleep; it was all a dream. For a moment, she considered Obliviating him, but opted not to; careful manipulation would likely be good enough. Besides, Obliviating him this close to NEWTs was just cruel. 

Hermione climbed back up the stairs to her room, lighting a few candles. She lay on her bed with a sigh. She had sobered up somewhat. She stared at the ceiling, watching the stones flicker in the candlelight. She didn't regret what she had just done with Cormac, she just felt...nothing. She was neither surprised nor disappointed at Cormac's dismal performance, nor at her lackluster reaction to him. Her main disappointment was that he hadn't been Lucius. She should have waited, but she had to try, she had to know. 

However, her body clearly had no idea that sex was finished and as Hermione eased a hand into the top of her shorts and slipped it down, she still felt slippery warmth between her legs, as if just getting warmed up for the main event, completely unaware that it had already occurred. In fact, her entire being was tense with pent up, unspent sexual currency that had been building for weeks. She took her hand back out and let both hands drift over her breasts. She felt her nipples through the cotton of her tee-shirt, massaging them between thumb and finger until they responded to her. She slowly lifted her shirt up and cupped her breasts in her hands, pinching her nipples. _Don't do it,_ she told herself, pulling her hand off and clenching her fist, _it's what he wants and you'll fulfill his stupid prophecy._

Hermione thought for a moment, really thought about what was truly stopping her from accepting Lucius' offer. As reprehensible as it was to admit, it wasn't because he was evil. She had known that from the beginning and had enjoyed herself despite it, or perhaps because of it. She realized it was because if she shared her body with him again and let him share his with her with nothing else at stake, there could be no more excuses or pretenses: it would be exactly what it was. Without a transaction, Hermione could never again pretend to herself, to him, or to anyone else that it was for any other reason but that she wanted him. But, as Lucius himself had said, it was the most pure reason of all.

Something else dawned on Hermione then, that she felt more alive when Lucius merely touched her neck than she did when Cormac stuck his cock in her. She felt more alive when she was sparring with Lucius verbally or mentally than she did having a conversation with any other male or human for that matter. She had felt alive when she had propositioned him the first time. She had felt alive when she was breaking into his house. She had felt alive even when she was trying to fight off his contact poison. And she felt alive at the idea that she could have it all with him, over and over again. Lucius was dangerous and evil; nothing would likely ever change that, and yet no one else had ever made her feel like the most fully realized version of herself the way that he did. No one had ever challenged her and forced her to bring her sharpest, most clever self to bear and then made her orgasm. The revelation was so profound that all the hair on the back of Hermione's neck stood up.

 _So be it,_ Hermione thought. _He's right, damn him._ Between the frustration, the Prima Nocte, the need to sleep, and the moment of pristine clarity that she had experienced, Hermione finally let it in, let it wash over her. Her hands became his, channeling his experience, his desire, his absolute confidence. She massaged her nipples as the heat between her legs built. Impatiently, she pushed her shorts down her thighs and kicked them off. She spread her legs in anticipation. Her hands moved down between her thighs, one spreading herself apart, the other finding her clitoris, this time without hesitation, embarrassment, or regret. 

And she thought of Lucius as she fingered her pussy, just as he said she would and she found that she wished beyond anything that it was his hands touching her now, finding her clitoris and up inside of her. She slipped one finger in, then two, moving them in and out first slow, and then faster. Now it was easy. She pulled her fingers out, now slick with her own desire, and moved them back up to her clit. Confident, she stroked quickly, but lightly, her rear end and midsection tightening. It was close, but not close enough. She looked around. Next to her bed was a pile of unlit white candles. Heat rose to her face as she considered. Should she? It was a dirty idea, but there really wasn't a reason not to. Lucius had wanted to her to focus on her own pleasure, which was precisely what she was doing, and she needed something to fill her, her body was crying out for it. 

Hermione took the top one off the pile and moved it between her legs. She let it glide up and down her moist slit, getting used to the feeling. After a second, she slipped the candle slowly into herself and then pulled it back again. It was cool and smooth against her flesh, but stretched her in just the right way. She moved it faster, sliding it in and out of her pussy, feeling fantastically naughty as her other hand rubbed her clitoris. She gasped as the sensation had magnified with this new stimulation. She realized that she was a lot closer than she thought. Sweat broke out on her body as she increased her pace with both hands, thrusting the candle in and out, her movements almost frenzied. Her rear end and inner thigh muscles tensed as she brought herself to the edge, her breath now coming out in a short series of gasps.

Every dirty dream and memory came rushing back to her in a swirl of color and sensation as her orgasm consumed her, sending spasms of feeling down her legs and up her spine. She bit her lips to stay quiet, but it was damn near impossible. The orgasm went on and on, longer and more intense than she had anticipated. Eventually it dissipated. Breathing hard, Hermione pulled the candle out, relaxed her hands and closed her legs, letting off breath after shaky breath. She was smiling so hard her face hurt. She felt terrific. 

She knew that Lucius would tease her mercilessly when he found out what she did, and she knew that she would not be able to keep it from him. Still, she had never felt more calm, as she had finally removed the last barriers keeping her from him. A narcotic feeling of peace settled over her and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Hermione got up with the sun, not feeling rested exactly, but still at peace, and no small amount of excitement. Before breakfast even, she climbed the turret to the Owlery. She carried a note with her. One word. Three letters. She found a tawny owl, the same one that had carried her message to Narcissa Malfoy not three weeks before. She tied the note onto its offered leg and it took off, circling into the rising sun. 

Hermione let the sunlight warm her face. "Yes..." she said.


	10. 31: Consummation; 32: Intimidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon receiving Hermione's affirmation, Lucius gives her a breathtaking but problematic gift. During the 7th Year Ball, Hermione and Lucius embark on the consummation of the affair both of them have been eagerly awaiting. Fred and George Weasley make trouble for the two of them and Lucius quickly makes Hermione see the advantage of having him as an ally. Lucius informs Hermione of his intent for their next tryst, resulting in gloating anticipation for the former and apprehensive dread for the latter. 
> 
> _Lucius slipped one of his fingers up to place it on her mouth. "You must decide right now whether or not you can trust me as a lover,_ your _lover, because_ that _is the moment that is now upon us; in fact, that decision is all that matters, but it must be made now and with all your heart, body, and mind. If you choose to trust me," he dropped his voice and bit off each word, "Remove...your...gown." He took his hand away from her face and took a step backwards, waiting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, my delightful perverts. You've waited 72,682 words for this. Patiently. I hope it lives up to the hype. Thank you for reading my story, for your kudos and for your kind, well-thought-out comments. I read them all and appreciate you taking the time. Enjoy the smut: YOU DESERVE THIS and I don't mean maybe. :P

CHAPTER 31: CONSUMMATION

The morning before the 7th Year Ball, Hermione received a package without a return address during breakfast, just as she was beginning to worry that Lucius hadn't gotten her note, as she still had not seen him, nor heard from him since the Vow. Even though it had taken three owls to deliver the package, drawing several inquisitive glances, Hermione knew better than to open it at the breakfast table with every single Gryffindor looking. Thus, she finished early and rushed up to her room before her first class. 

Hermione tore the plain brown paper off, revealing a long, black box underneath. Embossed on the top, in silver, were the initials _M. M._ Hermione held her breath as she carefully took the lid off and moved the tissue paper aside. She let her breath back out in an ecstatic sigh as she pulled out yards of red silk that seemed to create its own light, like liquid fire. It was Madame Malkin's work, but her extremely exclusive, prohibitively expensive Black Line. All Firesilk, spun by a magical hybrid of glow worms and silkworms, enchanted to give it that distinctive look of living flames. Next to the dress were matching lacy red underthings, and strappy satin heels. At the bottom of the box was a piece of parchment.

It was blank. Hermione frowned. She took out her wand and said, _"Aparecium."_ Words materialized on the cream-colored paper and Hermione read, heart beating quickly. _You won't be able to slide out from underneath my expectations this time, nor anything else of mine for that matter. -L_ It was pretty much the innuendo-laden told-you-so she would have expected from Lucius, but she still felt heat rising in her cheeks. She folded the note up and put it in a pocket in her backpack. Hermione put everything else gingerly back in the box, closed the lid, pushed it under her bed with a toe, and then rushed off to class. 

Hermione's day was a blur and when she finally did go to sleep she woke up about every 90 minutes, sleeping only lightly between and doing that annoying thing where she was dreaming that she was awake even while sleeping. It was both confusing and exhausting. She woke up at five in the morning and attempted to read until it was time to actually get up, but found she was reading the same paragraph over and over again. 

Another day passed in a blur. Hermione drifted from class to class, not hearing anything. Her level of distraction over the last few weeks genuinely had her concerned for her upcoming NEWTs, but there was little she could do about it. She also had no idea logistically what was going to happen that night, a fact she realized as she was crossing the quad between afternoon classes. Obviously, she was supposed to wear the breathtaking gown, which in itself was a problem. She was confident it would fit; there was no way Lucius would botch something like that. It dawned on her that it was likely the reason that he would have gone to Madame Malkin's rather than Twilfitt & Tatting's: although the latter was more upscale, at the former, Madame Malkin would already have had Hermione's measurements. 

No, the real problem was explaining it. A designer dress made out of a rare magical substance would have set Lucius back probably G400, not that it would matter to him. _That's money he probably found in the couch,_ Hermione thought with a smirk. But to explain how she had obtained it, that would be the challenge. And people would ask, specifically Ginny. Hermione's Vow prevented her from talking about any of it with anyone, so it was more than Lucius had said: her life from here forward would literally depend not just on her ability to keep her mouth shut, but also on her ability to fabricate plausible reality as needed. Knowing Lucius, watching her try was likely part of the fun for him. He would have known perfectly well that the dress was beyond Hermione's means and that she would have to justify its presence in her life and on her body. Thank everything holy he didn't get her any jewelry. Baby steps, apparently. 

Hermione turned a corner, and went through a corridor, now merging with other students who were going from class to class. She could see them flow to one side to let someone, or multiple people by. The throng parted for a moment, and Hermione saw that it was the Board coming through. Her heart sped up. There Lucius was, all black robes, blond hair, walking stick, arrogance...the sum of it hers for the taking in just a few short hours. Hermione backed up against the wall, trying to look calm. She dared a look at his face, her own arranged in what she hoped was neutrality. Lucius regarded her with contempt, not unlike the first time they had seen each other that day at Hogwarts all those weeks before. He met her gaze for just a split second and some instinct made Hermione free up a hand from her books and drop it to her side. 

Lucius brushed by her, grazing her bare arm, and then he was gone. In Hermione's hand was another note. She looked around carefully. The crowd had coalesced once more and everyone looked as they always looked, indifferent, joking, preoccupied...a sea of faces. No one had noticed. Hermione clutched the note and ducked into the nearest girls' room. She locked herself into a stall, set her bag down on the floor and closed the lid of the toilet to have a seat. Hermione then unfolded the note and upon finding it blank, cast Aparecium and read it. It was in a terse and to-the-point shorthand: _RoR, 11p, don't be late. ___Her stomach flipped. Finally, an answer.

Hermione folded this note up as well and stowed it in her bag with the other. She observed that just seeing Lucius had had quite the affect on her, not unlike the day of the Vow. Almost as an afterthought, she let her legs drift apart. She snaked a hand up her skirt and slipped one tentative finger into the edge of her underwear. Yes, even now she was wet and Lucius had barely touched her or looked at her. She could only imagine the state she would be in when they actually came together that night. She pushed her finger into her pussy, just as deep as the first knuckle, reveling in the feeling generated from just that one finger stroking against this extremely sensitive part of her. 

Hermione heard a pair of girls come into the bathroom, talking and laughing and she immediately pulled her hand out, feeling ridiculously guilty. It was a mercy, really, because as much as she wanted to get off right then and there, how Lucius would mock her if he knew that she lacked the self control to wait even a few hours for his ministrations. Merlin, by then she would be dripping. Hermione closed her legs, put on her backpack once more and ducked out of the stall. She nodded her greetings to the other girls while washing her hands and then exited and walked back down the hall. 

Dinner was out of the question. Hermione was a bundle of nerves, as bad, or perhaps worse than the first time. She knew that many expected her to go to the ball with Ron, but in true Ronald Weasley fashion, he had not asked her, and with everything that was happening, she was not completely sure she would say yes if he did. Truthfully, she had started giving up on Ron following the debacle of the Yule Ball in their fourth year. She might have gone with him back then, but now, with no possibility of a future between them, she really didn't see the benefit.

On the other hand, Cormac McLaggen _had_ asked her. Things had been predictably weird between the two of them. The morning following her unfortunate tryst with him, he had smiled at her in a secretive sort of way and she had managed to fix him with a half-awake and totally bored look on her face. "Yes?" she had said. "Can I help you?" He had stammered something and walked away. Later he had rewarded her with a lot of strange looks and double takes. Hermione had acted the way she always had with him, dismissive and negligent, clearly not interested. But Cormac had asked anyway, bless him, and of course she told him no. She had offered him neither explanation nor excuse, just a firm _no_ , reinforced with a head shake. It was probably rude and definitely manipulative, but she didn't care. Eventually, he got the hint and went away.

It was now seven o'clock, and the ball was to start in an hour. Hermione went up to her room to get ready. She had already availed herself of the Prefects' bathroom, staying in as long as she dared, until her fingers and toes wrinkled and her skin glowed pink. Now she stood naked in her room, resolutely resisting the urge to touch herself again. She put on the lingerie first. It fit perfectly, as predicted. She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing how she would appear, or more to the point, how Lucius would see her. She looked nervous. Sexy, but nervous. 

Hermione frowned at her own reflection. Nervous was last time; it simply would not do this time around. Draco's voice came back to her, _stand up straight, look down your nose._ She did both those things. Pulling her shoulders back pushed out her breasts. Looking down her nose lowered her eyelashes. Those two simple acts changed her look drastically, as well as her affect. It reminded her that the only course open to her in this moment, this night, was to fully inhabit her new role, to embrace it. No more pretending, no more games. She wanted this to happen, really, truly wanted it. She let one corner of her mouth curl up and raised one eyebrow. Now she looked like a siren, which was a huge improvement over a nervous Head Girl.

It was time for the dress. Hermione pulled it over her head and let it slide over her skin, the slippery silk caressing every inch of exposed flesh. She shivered. When she zipped it up, again, the fit was perfect. It was cut on the bias, and thus was slinky and clingy from the waist down, but draped up top, just showing the top curve of her breasts without being trashy. It had a slit in the back, which made it sexier, and easier to walk in. 

She picked up her wand. As shallow as it sounded, Hermione had spent the last few weeks perfecting a glamour, which she cast now. Ironically, she had found it in an article in Rita Skeeter's column in _Witch Weekly._ It applied her make-up flawlessly, and she knew it would not smear or run, no matter what she got into. Another spell to do her hair, which was not a glamour, but a simple charm. It piled her hair onto her head, with curls coming down, secured by hair sticks. She had put on red polish on both fingernails and toenails shortly following her bath. Last, she slid on the strappy satin shoes. 

Hermione looked at herself one last time in her mirror. She looked wholly different, but still like herself. An impossibly sexy, not to mention expensive version of herself. In short, she looked like Lucius Malfoy's mistress. The thought raised gooseflesh on her arms. It was really happening. She took the shoes back off again, put on her sneakers, and climbed down the dozens of stairs. If she took a dive between here and the ball, it would ruin her night and she wasn't willing to take that chance on spiky shoes. Sexy she may be, but Hermione was still practical for all that. 

She emerged into the common room and a hush fell. Everyone who was going to the ball was ready, and they would go en masse. "Wow, Hermione," said Harry, raising his eyebrows, "you look great." 

Hermione smiled. "Thanks."

Ron just gawked at her wordlessly. 

"Where did you get that dress??" Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown shrieked in unison.

"Yes, Hermione, where _did_ you get it?" Ginny asked coolly. She looked quite the _femme fatale_ herself dressed in a green, halter-neck velvet gown that brought out her eyes. Her red hair fell in a straight curtain down her bare back. She stood up from where she was sitting on a couch and approached Hermione. She ran her finger down the side of the dress and a ripple of fire followed it. Parvati and Lavender gasped in rapture. 

_Think like him,_ Hermione thought. She smiled widely. "I admit, this isn't _exactly_ what I ordered," she said. "I just wanted a red silk dress, and this is what was sent to me. It was too late to send it back, and it's not as if it's my fault they sent the wrong one, so...here it is!" She turned in it, letting it swirl around her, its color rippling. "I guess it's my lucky night." She shrugged carelessly. 

Ginny met her grin with one of her own, but it didn't quite make it all the way up to her eyes. "You're lucky all right!" she said, a little too enthusiastically. 

Hermione didn't let her smile falter even a little. She led the merry band of Gryffindors out of the portrait hole and down the stairs. At the girls' room outside of the Great Hall, she changed out of her sneakers and into the red heels, stashing her other shoes on top of a cabinet. She dug around in her evening bag and pulled out the Anti-Fertility potion that she had obtained earlier that week. 

Outside of Professor Snape's office was a container called the Amnesty Box (Or more popularly known as the "I-Am-Nasty" box), which Snape kept consistently stocked with Anti-Fertility potions for both sexes. It was a steady source of amusement to many students that one of Snape's jobs was to brew this particular concoction for horny yet responsible students. It couldn't have been his favorite part of being the Hogwarts Potions Master, particularly for a man so disdainful of anything related to intimate physical contact. There was another Amnesty Box adjacent to the hospital wing. Access was free, easy, and with no questions ever asked, but of course, it behooved one to be discreet. Also, Merlin forbid a student ever let Peeves catch him or her at it: that was a one-way ticket to permanent notoriety. Hermione took one more look in the bathroom mirror. She pulled her shoulders back once again and smiled. It was time. She took the stopper out of the vial and downed the contents. 

Head up, Hermione descended the wide marble staircase. The Great Hall's floating candles had been replaced with orbs of light that looked like bubbles of white and blue in various sizes, gently moving in a circle. When one got close to her, her dress reflected its light in ripples that moved down one side of the dress and back up the other. She moved through the lights, letting their glow interact with her dress. People stared, and rather than put her head down and cut quickly through to a wall, which she might have otherwise been tempted to do, she forced herself to slow down and let them enjoy the view. 

The band was playing light music, not music for dancing per se, but for bantering, mingling. A buffet lined one side of the hall. The rest of the walls held round tables, leaving room for dancing. Half the dais held the band. The other half had been turned into a sort of VIP lounge, which was where the majority of the professors were gathering, along with the Minister of Magic, the Headmaster, and a few Board members. Hermione willed herself not to look too hard. She let her eyes drift around the entire room without appearing to search for anyone. It didn't matter. Lucius wasn't there, a fact that filled Hermione with relief mingled with disappointment. 

The night had just begun, however; a lot of people were not yet there. Hermione talked to various people, as others arrived and the room began to fill. The band picked up the pace and couples started populating the dance floor. Hermione watched but did not participate. She sipped nervously on the punch, just to give herself something to do. 

"Hey Hermione," two voices said, one in each ear. She jumped. It was Fred and George Weasley. 

"Your dress appears to be on fire, best put it out," said George.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You are ha-ha-hilarious."

"No need to get hot under the collar," Fred said, grinning. "Hey, did you hear about Draco Malfoy?"

"Not really," Hermione answered, carefully keeping her voice vague and uninterested.

"He Portkeyed to the United States, very suddenly." Fred scowled. "It's a good thing for him too..."

Hermione forced her eyebrows up. "Really? What in Merlin's name is he going to do there?"

Fred looked thoughtful. "Get a job?"

George snorted. "Doing what? He's qualified for exactly nothing, you know."

Fred narrowed his eyes shrewdly and pointed at George. "I'm thinking taco truck."

George nodded. "But what to call it..." He furrowed his brows.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Draco's Tacos."

George nodded again. "All right, but is it, like 'DRAY-co's TAY-cos, or DRAH-co's TAH-cos? You really have to consider these things, otherwise it's just ridiculous."

Hermione smiled. " _You're_ ridiculous."

"Hey, did Ron ask you to dance yet?" George asked. 

Hermione shook her head. "Although I'm hardly waiting for him to do so," she said. She hadn't actually seen Ron since they had left the common room. She felt that turning him down for a dance would be churlish, so she would have said yes had he asked, but it wasn't really why she was there.

"A Weasley not dance the first dance with the Head Girl? Unpardonable...George, you or me?"

George grinned. "I'll do it." He went down on one knee. "If Milady of a Thousand Fires will have me," he said, clutching his heart and bowing his head.

"Oh get up, you idiot," Hermione said, laughing. George stood. He took her hand and led her out to the floor. She danced with George first, and then Fred, both fast songs. They were both good dancers, which was what happened to people who had given up a long time ago what people thought of them. She danced with Seamus, with Neville, and with Dean. She danced with a few guys from other houses. She talked some more. She danced some more, her nerves starting to recede somewhat with the welcome distractions. 

Before she knew it, it was 10:00. People had started to loosen up, those old enough had started to drink in earnest, and the hall was getting louder. The band had kicked up the bass and Hermione could feel the beat deep in her abdomen. Also, couples were starting to dance closer to each other. There was an almost frantic feel to the air, as if everyone there knew it was their last chance to be with people that they had obsessed over, had crushes on, or been in love or lust with since Year One. 

Hermione drifted back off the dance floor and drank water, thirsty and now that the Weasley twins had been there for a while, not trusting the punch at all. Additionally, she had no interest in drinking alcohol, although with Fred and George, if Firewhisky was the only thing they used to spike the public libations, they should all have counted themselves fortunate. On one hand, alcohol would loosen her up; on the other hand, it would dull her senses, something which she had no interest in doing. In fact, she hadn't drank since her night with Cormac, whom she had successfully evaded thus far. 

Hermione watched the couples dance. Harry and Ginny danced together, close, intense, hot, his hands traveling over her bare back. They would most assuredly find a dark corner somewhere later that night, where Ginny would no doubt fog up Harry's glasses. Hermione smiled at the thought; it really would be good for both of them, particularly Ginny. Luna and Neville danced together, gazing softly into each others' eyes, Neville looking somewhat bemused and yet excited, Luna dreamy as always. Ron was dancing with Lavender Brown, already attempting to count all of her teeth with his tongue. Hermione sighed with relief as it took her completely off the hook in that department. 

Over the next few moments, something in the air changed and she could sense that Lucius was there. As casually as she could, Hermione turned back towards the dais. She hadn't seen him come in, but there he was, lounging in one of the leather couches that someone had likely dragged up from the Slytherin dungeon. He had one leg crossed casually over the other, resplendent in his black dress robes. His left hand was idly stroking the arm of the couch. He looked away from Snape, saw Hermione, and did a double take. 

It was everything Hermione could do not to laugh; the move was so un-Lucius-like, so human, and so unsubtle that it filled her with a sense of her own power. It also was one of those unsettling moments that made her actually like him. He stared at her now, eyes traveling slowly down her body and back up again, taking in every inch. He smiled, a knowing smile that informed her that he knew that it was all for him and he was appreciative. Snape, luckily, was paying attention to the professor sitting on the opposite side of the couch, so Lucius could continue his mental undressing of Hermione without interruption.

Hermione locked eyes with him. Fortunately, everyone around her was distracted as well. She returned his smile. She ran one hand up her arm slowly, never breaking his gaze, and let her fingers trail over her collarbone and then slowly down between her breasts and then back up the other side once again. She felt the heat start between her legs. For once she did not feel at all nervous, just ready, eager even. 

Someone touched her other hand, breaking her connection with Lucius. She turned quickly. "Viktor!" she said, her eyes wide.

Viktor put her hand to his lips and kissed the back softly. "Hermione, you are very beautiful tonight," he said in his heavily accented English. 

She smiled at him. "Thank you," she said. She risked a glance back at Lucius. His smile had turned into a look of quizzical amusement. Hermione turned her attention back to Viktor. This was going to be fun. 

"You like...to dance?" he said.

"Sure, absolutely," Hermione had to raise her voice to be heard over the music.

Viktor took her by the hand and led her back to the dance floor. The music turned into a slow tango. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and Viktor wrapped his arms around her waist, as if three years hadn't passed. He danced with the same intensity that he played Quidditch, made out, and did most everything else. When she pressed her hips to his and felt what was there, she realized that not much had actually changed. Well, one important thing had indeed changed: she was old enough to do whatever she wanted with him or anyone else for that matter. One word from her, and they would be back in some private place, continuing what they had started three years before. 

When Viktor's hand drifted over her the uppermost curve of her rear, Hermione did not move it. Over Viktor's shoulder, she looked back at Lucius, who watched them like a cat watching birds at a window. Hermione didn't feel any animosity coming from him, but did feel his scrutiny nonetheless as if he was gathering information, or perhaps ammunition for a future time. The next time she glanced at Lucius, he looked pointedly at the clock. It read 10:55. Hermione swore inwardly and glared at him. He shrugged and walked his fingers across the couch arm, to tell her to get going. The song ended and Hermione gently disentangled herself from Viktor, smiling at him over her shoulder as she walked away. Once up the stairs, she ducked into the bathroom, slipped her fancy shoes off, changed back into her sneakers and race-walked towards the Room of Requirement. 

Part of the reason Hermione had changed into her sneakers was, well, to sneak. Not only did she have to get there in time, she had to avoid detection, both human and poltergeist. The Room of Requirement was famously used as a hook-up place during the 7th Year Ball, so she could only pray that it would open for her, and be empty. She turned left, and then right, up stairs, another right, and then up more stairs to the 7th floor corridor. She stopped suddenly in front of a blank wall. 

Hermione caught her breath while she waited. She concentrated hard on what was to come and traipsed in front of it three times. After a few seconds, the door manifested in the blank wall. She knocked tentatively and when she heard no response, she opened the door. The room was thankfully empty of other people, and looked completely different than it had the last time she had been in it. The dueling equipment was gone, and the room was significantly smaller, cozier, and more intimate. 

There were candles burning everywhere and a four-poster bed in the middle of the room made with off-white linens. There was a fireplace but in place of a fire, a series of those same orbs that had been floating around downstairs were drifting in the space a fire might have been. Instead of white, they were red. In front of the fire were two richly upholstered burgundy chairs and a rug made of some sort of soft, white animal pelt. 

Hermione hastily slipped her sneakers off and tossed them underneath one of the chairs. Then she sat on the edge of the bed to wait. Lucius would most definitely be late on purpose. He'd make her wait, building her anxiety, her anticipation, making her even more of a livewire of sexual energy than she already was. Hermione lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, re-playing all of their encounters in her mind, the first time in the Hospital wing, the near miss on the sofa in the Manor, and the other near miss at the mediation. Hermione found herself getting aroused, thinking about Lucius' hands on her, his lips on her neck. Almost subconsciously, she started moving her hands over her body, over that smooth and magical silk, creating trails of fire, caressing every contour. 

"I never said you could start without me," she heard Lucius say. 

Hermione had not even heard him come in. He closed the door behind him. She stood up and put her hands behind her back, her face on fire. Lucius approached her. He gave her a slow once-over again. "What a lovely gown. Where did you get it?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you know it, I ordered a regular red silk dress and this is what they sent. It was too late to send it back so I figured, why not wear it?" She shrugged. 

"Very nice, Hermione, you're starting to learn." 

"Thank you," she said quietly, eyes down. "I really like it."

Lucius took two fingers and placed them under her jaw, gently lifting her chin back up again, so she had to look up at his face, his gray eyes staring intently into hers. "You probably shouldn't thank me yet," he said, his voice coming out a low growl. "Because as beautiful as it, and you are in it, I'm going to have to insist that you remove the gown this instant." 

Hermione took a deep breath, suddenly flustered. "All right, but I'm really nervous, just so you know. You've made it abundantly clear that you're a tremendously skilled, experienced lover. But I'm not and now that it comes down to it--" Her words tumbled out in a rush.

"Stop talking," Lucius said, slipping one of his fingers up to place it on her mouth. "Your point is well taken. And while what you're saying may be true, it's not helpful to you or to me and the time for talking is long over. You must decide right now whether or not you can trust me as a lover, _your_ lover, because _that_ is the moment that is now upon us; in fact, that decision is all that matters, but it must be made now and with all your heart, body, and mind. If you choose to trust me," he dropped his voice and bit off each word, "Remove...your...gown." He took his hand away from her face and took a step backwards, waiting. 

Without another word, and strangely re-assured, Hermione also took a step back as well and turned so she was facing away from him. She reached up and took out her hair sticks, letting her hair tumble down her back. She unzipped the dress from the side and eased it off one shoulder, and then off the other. Clutching it to her chest, she turned back around, every movement drawn out deliberately. She met his eyes again and let the dress fall. She stepped out of it, and then draped it over the bedpost. 

She stood in front of him in just bra and underwear, waiting. He had his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he looked at her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Don't fret: I'm not going to touch you," he said. "Yet."

Hermione stared at him, aghast. "Again?" she said. "Didn't you have enough of that at the Vow?"

Lucius dropped his hands and walked slowly back towards her, stopping mere inches away from her, close enough that she could feel the heat coming from his body, but, as threatened, still not touching her. "Perhaps not. That stunt you pulled back there with Viktor Krum was mean-spirited, spiteful, and petty."

Hermione smirked. "Jealous, were we?" 

Lucius shook his head. "Not particularly. Jealousy is for insecure people and thus is a complete waste of my time. Besides, we both knew who you were going to end up alone with in the Room of Requirement later; the fact that it opened for both of us and so well-equipped for our mutual purpose speaks volumes." He then moved even closer on her right side and, as he had at Malfoy Manor, let his lips just barely brush her ear. "Also, you certainly don't need _my_ permission to let Viktor Krum take his pleasure between your beautiful thighs. Far be it from me to judge him his desire to do just that, or yours for that matter. No...I'd only ask that you would, in your generosity, let me watch that scintillating event happen, were it ever to become a reality."

Hermione gasped. 

When Lucius spoke again, Hermione could hear the smile in his voice. "That doesn't shock you, does it, Miss Granger? That I thrill in watching you experience your pleasure across its entire spectrum and in all its splendor?"

With that, the picture sprung fully formed into Hermione's mind of Viktor thrusting his cock unrelentingly into her willing pussy as Lucius watched...that all-too-familiar-smirk on his handsome features...possibly naked himself and with one well-shaped hand clasped around his own cock. Hermione bit her lip as her clit gave an involuntary tremor. She pressed her knees together.

Lucius moved away from her so he was once more in front of her. He looked down between her legs, his gaze decidedly licentious, which resulted in another intimate spasm that made Hermione pull in her breath. "Well, well," Lucius drawled, "That concept certainly seemed to generate a favorable response. We shall simply have to file the idea away for future reference, won't we?"

Hermione found that she had leaned against the bed behind her and gripped the sheets in her hands. She noticed what she was doing and unclenched her fingers. "What were we talking about?" she asked weakly.

"You and Viktor, tonight, and your ineffectual attempt to make me jealous," Lucius answered her. "You see, Miss Granger, you're missing the point. Letting Krum dance with you, letting him touch you, all that can be forgiven...it is your intent, your _attempt_ to make me jealous that needs to be corrected." 

Hermione's heartbeat quickened. "Don't forget about your Vow," she said darkly.

Lucius smiled. "I haven't. Just because I can't harm you doesn't mean I can't torment you," he said. "Honestly, did you expect anything less?"

Hermione lifted a finger at him. "Be careful; that wand curses two ways, you know, and I do have some power of my own."

He inclined his head towards her slightly. "Consider me sufficiently intimidated," he said, not sounding cowed in the slightest. "Now, if you would be so kind as to get on the bed."

Hermione slid backwards onto the bed, lying on her back. Lucius stood by the side of the bed, staring down at her. "You had started something before I ever walked in here that involved you touching yourself. Because I'm not going to touch you, and because you seem to find _me_ intimidating, I'd suggest you start there."

Hermione looked up at him, once again uncertain of what to do. Doing it alone, in her bed at the top of Gryffindor tower had been one thing, doing it here, with him fixing her with what she could only describe as lacivious interest was something else entirely. 

"Just close your eyes and pretend I'm not even here," he said quietly, his eyes drifting over her bare skin. 

Hermione closed her eyes and relaxed back once again. Lucius was right: it was easier without seeing him. Her hands moved over the swell of her breasts, massaging them through the red bra. She shrugged the straps down her shoulders and onto her arms, hooked her fingers over the top of it and pulled down, exposing her breasts, her nipples already erect. She rubbed them with her fingers, her breathing increasing as she felt that familiar line of fire travel straight down between her legs. 

This differed from when she had touched herself in her bedroom more so than Hermione had initially thought: the excitement was magnified greatly by this exclusive show she was now giving Lucius. Having him watch her perform this incredibly private act heightened her arousal in a way she couldn't have imagined when it was just her. She slipped out of her bra completely and tossed it aside. She rolled her nipples between her fingers and her breath caught in her throat. Her confidence growing, Hermione moved a hand slowly down her ribcage, her belly, and let it through the top of her underwear. She ran her finger down the top of clitoris and then below where her opening waited, as responsive and wet as she imagined it would be.

She could hear Lucius undressing, but she didn't open her eyes until he got on the bed and said, "So I can see." He sounded annoyed. 

Hermione opened her eyes and smiled at him. It was time to have some fun with him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, watching her pleasure herself. Hermione looked down at his cock, excited to see that it was already hard, its head beading with pre-cum. "At least _one_ part of you would like that," she said. She then drew her knees up and then spread her legs apart, moving so that one leg was on either side of him and adjusting her hips so that he was directly between them. She took her other hand off of her breast and sent it down to join the other. Still keeping her actions hidden beneath her underwear, Hermione spread herself apart and, without preamble, inserted two fingers deep into her pussy and then pulled them back out with a small moan. She took her hand out and held it up, fingers glistening in the candlelight. "As wet as you could possibly want," she whispered. 

She was gratified to see Lucius swallow, his eyes fixed on those two fingers. "And spiteful, mean-spirited, and petty as ever," he said, "Completely unrepentant."

Hermione put her hand back into her underwear, once again slipping her finger into her pussy and letting her breath hiss over her teeth as a shudder of pleasure shot through her. "You never said anything about letting you watch," she said between breaths as she slowly pumped her finger in and out. "You just said you wanted me to touch myself."

Lucius gave her a dark look. "Semantics, Hermione. You know perfectly well what I meant."

Hermione smile widened. "You sound _so_ frustrated. You see, I can follow the letter of the law without following the spirit, something with which you certainly have plenty of experience." She moved her finger faster now. "I'll bet you'd just love to see how wet you've made me without touching me," she teased him. "I mean, you can see how drenched I am on the outside, you can only imagine what it's like on the inside." She moaned. "I am so ready for you to be inside me even now--" She closed her eyes for just a moment, "Oh, this feels so _good_ \--" She opened them once more, "but you can't, can you?" 

Hermione felt malicious vindication to see Lucius glare at her venomously. "Wow, this really might not take very long," she said, her breathing speeding up. "I suppose I want it worse than I thought, if just the _thought_ of having you in me is doing this. Talk about _power_." She moaned again on the last word and arched her back. She slowed back down again. "Have you changed your mind about not touching me?" she asked. "Because that might make me change my mind about not showing you what I'm doing."

Lucius lay on the bed next to her, propping himself up on one elbow. "From the looks of it, you may not need me at all," he said with a smirk. 

Hermione shrugged. "You're welcome to re-join the party if I'm boring you," she said, emboldened, but knowing full well he was likely to re-pay her in kind. She drew her slippery fingers out of her underwear and traced them gently over his lips. Lucius closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them once again. "But if you're going to stay," Hermione continued, "there's no sense in your being shy, and besides you need to earn your keep. I was here first." 

Lucius smiled. "After you, then," he said. 

Hermione closed her legs. She pushed her underwear slowly down her thighs, and then took them off. She moved her hands back up to her breasts again, pinching her nipples and then sliding them through her fingers. She resumed her original position, one hand spreading herself apart, the other rubbing her clitoris. 

This time, in an echo to what he had done to her at Malfoy Manor, Lucius slid his hand slowly up the inside of her thigh, and pushed first one leg out and then the other. He moved his hand back up and stopped just shy of her sex. He caressed the area where her leg met her groin, that soft, extremely sensitive skin. "What would you like me to do?" he whispered in her ear. 

"Do as the spirit moves you," Hermione said, feigning indifference. 

Lucius sighed in apparent regret and moved his hand away, back down her leg. "As I've told you in the past, you'll have to be more specific," he said. "I said, what would you like me to do?"

Hermione swallowed. It wasn't as if Lucius didn't know exactly what to do, but he wanted the sadistic pleasure of watching her squirm as she asked him or possibly begged him to commit the dirty acts she craved. Somehow, it made her even more aroused. "I want you to put your fingers inside me," she said, finding it hard to get the words out. Lucius moved his hand back up to the soft skin where he had been. 

He slowly put a finger inside of her and she gasped. "Like that?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed. 

"What else?" he asked, hooking his finger back around, finding that very responsive bundle of nerve fibers that Hermione didn't even know was there. Hermione let out a shaky whimper in response. Lucius moved his finger back and forth as Hermione rubbed her clit faster.

"I want you to make me come using your hands," she said, her breathing now rapid. "I know you know how."

"Of course I do. But how do we ask politely?" he said, slowing down. 

"Please...Lucius." 

"That's better." He resumed his pace as she picked hers up. She rubbed lightly, but quickly as pressure built, came to a head, and then dissipated as Lucius stopped suddenly. 

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him. "Why?" she asked between breaths. "Oh yes, I remember now, because you're awful."

Lucius smiled malevolently and brought his hand up and traced it between her breasts, his fingers now slick from her wetness. "I just want to hear how my prophecy came true, and don't even think about lying to me and telling me that it didn't." His voice carried a delicious undercurrent of threat. 

Hermione groaned. "I was so close, you know," she said.

Lucius looked at her with mock sympathy. "Oh, I _know_ you were. I can only imagine how frustrated _you_ must be feeling right now. Almost as frustrated as I was with our last two very close calls, especially the one where you said you would do anything I wanted and then backed out. Luckily, I am nothing if not patient, far more patient than you, apparently. That said, you don't deserve it. Not yet. I waited. Now it's your turn." He ran the backs of his knuckles over Hermione's right nipple, making her catch her breath between her teeth once again. 

"You're a terrible person," Hermione whispered, the ache between her thighs building.

"Now might not be the best time to say things like that. Just friendly advice." He massaged her nipple, squeezing just hard enough to draw a gasp from her, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

"Fine," Hermione said between clenched teeth. "You're smart, powerful, attractive, and have amazing hands. Is that better?"

Lucius' hand moved back down between Hermione's legs, joining hers once again. "A bit over-analytical, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. But you still haven't done what I asked." 

Hermione sighed. "There's not much to tell, really. I only did it once, with a Gryffindor boy who has had a crush on me for a while. We did it in the Common Room at about four in the morning. It was mediocre, but I suppose I can't blame him his lack of experience. I will say that I used him shamelessly; you would have been proud. I was intoxicated at the time, as well."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. He sat up for better leverage and moved his fingers under hers, sliding them in and out of her easily. Hermione's breathing sped up. He really did have amazing hands. "You were drinking? And you say you don't enjoy breaking rules..."

"Well, if you must know, it wasn't for a laugh; it was the only way I could sleep after the Vow." 

"Why couldn't you sleep? And yes, I must know." 

With Lucius' fingers bringing her rapidly back up towards climax, it was difficult to remain casual. "Oh, just thinking about things..." Hermione trailed off.

"Once again, you're going to have to be more specific." He stopped again, making Hermione let her breath out in an aggravated sigh. Lucius shrugged, indifferent. "You're doing this to yourself, you know."

"Very well," she said tightly. "Everything you said came true. I did count the ceiling tiles. There are 47 in the common room, all different. And I did touch myself later on that night, and I did think of you." 

"Really? How did that go?"

"Fine, thank you."

Lucius slowed down, but did not stop this time. "One would think," he said, "that you would learn to answer my questions adequately by now." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "After all, how long have you been waiting for me to do this to you properly?"

Hermione groaned. "Weeks," she said through clenched teeth. "Since the hospital wing, if you absolutely must know. Anyway, yes, I debased myself yet again by masturbating in your name. I imagined it was your hands on me as I did it. Would you like to hear more?"

Lucius looked as insufferably delighted as Hermione had dreaded. "Please. You're doing such a good job of filling me in. I just hope that I can return the favor."

Hermione's face felt hot. She didn't want to tell him the next part, but his deliberate delays were causing her the most exquisite agony and besides, he seemed to be enjoying her story. "I used a candle," she muttered.

His eyes lit up. "What? I didn't quite catch--"

"Yes you did; you heard me perfectly," she cut him off, impatiently. "I put an unlit candle inside of me," she said.

"And were you successful with that very inventive facsimile?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "You weren't the only one driven mad by our previous two meetings. I did want you that night at your house, and I did want you on the table the day of the Mediation, poison or no."

Lucius moved his fingers faster as Hermione talked. Her breath came in short, rapid gasps now and she too stroked herself faster. She could feel her pleasure building to a head and prayed that this time he would let her come, as she felt she might explode if she didn't. "Oh _gods_ , please let me come!" Hermione hated to beg, but that was the point he had brought her to. "Do...you want...to hear me say it?" she managed through the almost unbearable tension lancing through her pelvis.

"Above all things," Lucius whispered. "Say it to me now and then I'll happily let you come."

"You--were--right," she said, every muscle in her body alight, desperate for release. "You--won," she gasped. Lucius added his other hand, which he moved in tandem just below hers, essentially doubling the sensation. With that, the orgasm ripped through her, as Lucius finally let her have what he had denied her twice. Hermione arched her back, as wave after wave of ecstasy wracked her body. Her own sounds were animalistic and primitive as they burst from her throat. When her climax finally abated, she lay back, breathing hard, still feeling the occasional spasm from the aftermath of her orgasm. 

"I'd say you won that one, actually," Lucius said, moving his hand back to her hip. "But you have no idea how...stimulating it is to hear you say that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure. Your ego needs to be stroked, just as other parts do. And I suppose I had no effect on you whatsoever." 

Lucius lay on his back, and gently took one of her hands and guided it down between his legs. He closed her hand in his over his hard cock. "What do you think?" he asked. Both their hands were still slippery from Hermione, making it easy for her to move. Lucius kept his hand over hers, guiding her. 

"I didn't mean stroking literally," Hermione said, smiling in spite of herself.

"Well, maybe we should pretend that you did," Lucius countered, returning her smile with one of his own. 

"I--I haven't done this...not really." Hermione felt the familiar flush rise to her face whenever she considered her lack of experience in terms of the male body and its pleasure. 

"Oh, I have," Lucius said, his eyes glinting as he deliberately misinterpreted her statement. "I have no problem admitting to touching myself while thinking about you, and ironically, those incriminating pictures made it all the easier." Hermione let him move her hand up and down, and now it was his breathing that picked up. After a minute, Lucius took his hand away. Hermione didn't stop, she kept her grip firm but not tight and moved at a steady, even pace. Lucius had closed his eyes, ribs expanding and contracting with each breath.

"Do you want me to use my mouth?" Hermione asked. 

Lucius opened his eyes. "If you insist," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "And if you're actually going to try this time." 

"Yes," Hermione answered shortly. "You know I like to be good at everything. So, really, this isn't even about you." 

Lucius spread his hands in an offering gesture. "Well then, I am at your service."

Hermione moved between his legs. "However..." she started.

Lucius propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her, amused. "However, what?"

"Any advice you would like to bestow upon me would be appreciated," she finished. 

"Very well, Head Girl." 

Hermione scowled at him. "I see what you did there; you're exceedingly clever. Bear in mind, you're the one who will suffer if I perform badly, so please, continue to laugh it up at my expense." 

Lucius turned serious. "Relax," he said. "I'm in earnest for once: please relax. Unless you're thoughtless enough to use teeth, you'll hardly be bad at it if, as I said last time, you make even the slightest effort. Take your time and don't rush. If you believe that you'll enjoy it, you likely will. If you believe that I'll enjoy it, I likely will as well." 

Hermione smiled, relieved that for once he might actually make it easy for her. "There. Was that so hard?"

Lucius looked down. "So _very_ hard," he answered. 

Hermione pushed all her hair over one shoulder, out of the way. Cautiously, she lowered her mouth onto his cock. Lucius immediately caught his breath. She moved up and down slowly, remembering what he said about not rushing. She closed her eyes, focusing on what she was doing. Down and then back up again. And then again. The next time she went up, she moved her tongue in a circle, quickly, then moved slowly back down. She repeated this and was relieved to hear his breathing speeding up. She might actually be competent at this. Hermione did it again, moving slightly quicker this time. It wasn't so bad, really, giving head; Hermione was surprised to find that it was actually fun, the way his cock filled her mouth, giving its own occasional spasm against her exploring tongue and lips.

"Don't forget your hands," Lucius said between breaths. 

Hermione ran them slowly up his thighs and then back down, keeping his cock in her mouth. She moved her hands back up once again. She grasped his cock as she had before, stroking firmly, but not too hard. She moved her mouth and added her other hand in, moving up simultaneously, and then back down. She moved them at different intervals, one up, two up, alternating. As she did this, she sped up, gaining confidence. She opened her eyes and witnessed Lucius' quite encouraging response to her. Hermione was even more pleased to see that her actions were slowly but surely chipping away at Lucius' tightly reined-in control. It was an intoxicating feeling. Once again, warmth and pressure increased deep inside of her and she wanted fervently to take him inside of her. 

As if reading her mind, Lucius grabbed her wrists to stop her. "That's...fine," he said between breaths. Hermione felt a small thrill of triumph that he had to stop her before he lost all control. "Come on up here." 

Hermione sat up. "Really?" she asked, voice small.

"Absolutely. We're trusting me, remember?"

Hermione nodded. She got out from between his legs and moved up his body. She eased a knee over his pelvis and then looked at him, eyes wide. He put one hand on her thigh. The other one he closed over her hand. "Together," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. Hermione was suprised to find his gaze trusting and tentative as if he wanted her to trust him as well, but was still not completely sure that she did. Like his double take in the Great Hall, it was another moment that made her like him more. 

Lucius reached down and closed her hand over his cock before bringing it between her thighs. "I think you know where this goes," he said. He let go and she brought him to her moist entrance before easing down onto him. He filled her once again, inch by delicious inch until her hips met his and he was completely sheathed within her. Only then did Hermione let out her breath, shakily, even though it had been much easier than she thought it would be, and it didn't hurt in the slightest. Lucius, too, let out a breath, his eyes closed. Surprised, Hermione saw that gooseflesh was raised on his arms, a testament to how she was making him respond to her. 

With Hermione on top, from this angle, the sensation was wholly different than any of the other times she had done it. Hermione barely had to move, and somehow, every part of Lucius reached something in her that had been aching to be touched in that way. She tightened her thighs and then relaxed, moving up and down. When she came down and her clitoris rubbed up against his pubic bone, she moaned. She tilted her hips forward and then backwards again, pushing him deeper, moving against him in new ways. 

Lucius held her hips with his hands, and yet let Hermione take the lead, moving only when she did, responding to each of her movements with a complementary one of his own. She increased her pace, forwards and backwards, each move increasing that same pressure between her thighs. She ran her hands over his chest, ribs, torso, marveling at his body moving under hers. She moved faster, letting that same friction build as it had before. To his credit, Lucius completely let her take the initiative. Although he was being facetious at the time, when he had said at Malfoy Manor that Hermione would enjoy being on top because she would have control, he actually wasn't kidding. Breathing more swiftly now, Hermione pumped her hips against him, driving his cock deeper into her. She ground her clit against him over and over, faster and faster. Of her own volition, she came again, calling out his name as she did. 

A fine sheen of sweat had built on Hermione's body and she found herself out of breath from the sublime pleasure and from the physical exertion. She opened her eyes and looked at Lucius. He was simply smiling up at her. "Now what?" Hermione said. 

"Catch your breath," Lucius said, tapping her thigh with one hand. Hermione rolled off of him and lay on her back, doing just that. As she did, Lucius moved between her legs. She spread them for him voluntarily this time. He didn't waste any time. He pushed his cock into her slowly and she moaned, savoring the way he slid into her. He drew back and pushed in again. She brought her hips up to meet his as he did. He pushed into her, and up, and she knew that it wouldn't be long before she came a third time. She didn't expect to have more than one, but the build up to tonight had been so profound that there was no doubt in Hermione's mind that it would happen again if she let it. 

Hermione brought her hands over her head and once again Lucius wound his fingers into hers, giving them both leverage. She looked at him and smiled, before turning her head to the right as she suspected he wanted her to do. Once again, the Dark Mark stared her right in the face. "Look at me, Hermione," Lucius said between breaths. Taken aback, she turned her head to face him once again. "You should know just who you are doing this with," he said, his voice gentle. He released one of her hands and gently touched the side of her face for just a moment, without slowing. He then grasped her hand once again to regain his leverage. Hermione breathed in and out, groaning wantonly as Lucius drove his cock into her, enjoying the sensation coursing through her pelvis and the rest of her body. As she had her third orgasm, Lucius joined her. 

Spent, Lucius leaned over her, his long hair drifting over her bare shoulder. His breath tickled her neck as he recovered. After a moment, he rolled off of her and lay on his back next to her. Hermione rolled up on her arm, looking at him. He smiled at the ceiling, the first real one she had ever seen, no trace of his typical irony, superiority, or cruelty. He looked...human. Hermione smiled tentatively as well. 

Lucius then rolled up onto one side and looked back at her. "So, the Final Knife," he said.

Hermione flopped onto her back once more. "I didn't mean immediately," she said, "Although I appreciate your integrity...for once." 

"Please. I have integrity in spades. Was I arrogant or was I truthful about my skill as a lover?"

Hermione grinned. "Both," she said. "But you kept your word; that I can concede." She looked at him anxiously. "Was I all right?"

"Tolerable," he said, shrugging. "I've had worse." 

Hermione sighed and looked away.

"Well, I can hardly tell you that you were amazing because that could seriously compromise your efforts next time, and I can't have that."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "You don't have one nice bone in your body, do you?"

Lucius smirked. "Surely I must have _one,_ " he replied. "But in all seriousness, the Final Knife..."

Hermione propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. "Actually, there's something I want to know more than that."

"Really? And what is that?"

"The day of the Vow..." she drifted off.

Lucius sighed and now he was the one to lie back and stare at the ceiling. "We're actually doing this?" he said.

"Please, Lucius," Hermione said. She traced the serpents crossing his chest with one finger. "Look at it logically: clearly it must not bother me too much, seeing as we just had sex. But the fact remains that you _did_ poison me, and at the very least I deserve to know how. As to the _why_ , I know the _why_. We just did the _why_. I should also point out that right now would not be a great time to lie to me."

Lucius put his hands behind his head and looked back at her. "You're forgiving me, then, for poisoning you?"

"Would you rather that I just resented it?" she said.

"Not necessarily," Lucius said. "I'm just surprised. I thought you'd be indignant about the idea."

Hermione kept her hand on his chest. "Well...I do resent it, and I'll have to insist that you never, ever do it again, but I also appreciate its end result. I feel ambivalent about it, as I have felt ambivalent about you in the past: that powerful combination of fearing you and being drawn to you, hating you and wanting you..." she trailed off. 

"In that case," Lucius said, "I would very much like to hear _your_ theory about what happened at the Vow, because I'm inescapably certain that you have one." 

Hermione licked her lips. "The only thing I could come up with--and this is after extensive research, mind you, in the Restricted Section, under _terribly_ oppressive circumstances--" she grinned, "was an antiquated, obscure, Dark Arts potion called Prima Nocta, but that's as far as I got. And even Prima Nocta doesn't quite add up." She thought for a moment. "First of all, _Moste Potente Potions_ said, like Amortentia, Prima Nocta needs to be ingested to be effective. Also...How do I put this delicately? You, um, _spent_...inside of me, I _think_ , and in so doing missed a critical component. So, how did you turn it into a contact poison? And, as you said, if it was a contact poison, how did you avoid poisoning yourself?"

Lucius smiled. "Consider me deeply impressed. You're quite correct. It was Prima Nocta, the components of which I collected the very first time we were together. And no, I actually didn't... _spend_ inside you." He put a lightly mocking emphasis on Hermione's chosen word. "I deceived you into thinking that I did, and... _spent_ a few seconds later, whilst removing your blood from myself, collecting both at the same time while you weren't looking. It was a sacrifice, because I would have loved nothing better than to _spend_ inside of you, especially as I would have been the first man ever to do so..." He sighed wistfully, before looking at her once again. His expression suddenly changed to one of curiosity "Forgive me...did you let your Gryffindor paramour do it to you, spend his seed inside of you?"

Hermione shook her head, wondering what Lucius was getting at. He was weirdly possessive of certain things, like being the one to take her virginity or the first to come inside of her, and weirdly _not_ -possessive of others, like her having theoretical sex with Viktor or actual sex with Cormac.

Lucius' eyes lit up. "Indeed? So, when I came in you just now, _that_ was truly the first time?"

Hermione nodded. 

Lucius sat up and slowly moved her legs apart, his eyes tracking back to her most private area.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked. 

"Something I enjoy greatly," Lucius answered, his voice quiet. "Spread yourself for me, if you please." Still sensitive from her orgasms, Hermione spread her labia apart for him. "Ah," Lucius said, a look of satisfaction descending on his features, "there it is."

"Did you lose something?" Hermione asked dryly.

"Quite the contrary," Lucius answered. "It's simply a view that gives me great enjoyment: your most intimate of places still so wet from me, and now glistening with my cum as well..." He sighed contentedly, reached between her legs and once again slipped one finger and then two into her. Hermione's breath caught. Just when she thought they were done..."My apologies, Miss Granger," Lucius said after a moment, sliding his fingers back out. "For doing something so terribly invasive. I seem to have forgotten myself." He held his fingers up, now coated with both his and her secretions. This sight was enough to turn Hermione back on near-instantly. Lucius took a look at her and did a double take upon seeing her pleading expression. A slow smile spread across his face. "Surely you're not good for four," he reproached her, "no one's _that_ greedy."

Hermione bit her lip and looked at Lucius' wet fingers, feeling the heat come pulsing back between her spread thighs. Lucius took another look at her wet slit and smirked. "Oh, I would pleasure you once again, Miss Granger," he said softly, "but I'm not entirely certain that my hands are quite clean enough." Hermione reached up and slowly took his hand and pulled it down to her mouth. Without breaking eye contact with him, she ran her tongue down his fingers, licking both of their cum from them. It tasted salty and sweet at the same time, this taste of sex. She sucked one finger and then the other, first slow and then faster, until she had gotten every drop off. It was a fantastically dirty act and she loved every second of it. It occurred to Hermione then that the chief reason she liked being with Lucius was that she could be as dirty as she wanted with him; in fact, the dirtier she was, the more he seemed to like it. 

Sighing, Hermione lay back. She spread her labia for him again. Lucius put his hand between her thighs once more, teasing her with the backs of his knuckles only, running them over her swollen clit. Hermione moaned in the back of her throat. "I want to see you play with yourself again," Lucius said, sliding a finger back into her. "That's another sight that pleases me greatly and you can hardly expect me to do _all_ of the work..." Hermione complied, running her own fingers over her clit, rubbing as Lucius fingered her once more. Their endeavor was rapid and efficient this time. Hermione gave her clit quick little strokes as Lucius pushed his fingers in and out of her until she came, a short orgasm almost painful in its intensity that made her shriek just once. Now completely spent, Hermione lay back on the pillows and let her legs fall closed.

"May I finish my story now?" Lucius asked her, one eyebrow cocked. He sounded severe, as if Hermione had been the one to interrupt the flow of his narrative, not him.

Hermione nodded, suppressing a post-coital grin. "Definitely."

"Anyway, my sacrifice and subsequent efforts ended up being well worth it. Amazingly, a few drops of reconstituted silver dragon blood was all it took to turn the Prima Nocta into a contact poison. So, as you can see, I have started to pay you what I owe you, but perhaps not in the manner you would expect. A mere First Year charm called Impervius to keep it off of me and, as you already surmised, using two different hands for two different Unbreakable Vows."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Impervius..." she said, shaking her head, "so simple...so obvious."

"Don't be too harsh on yourself," Lucius said. "I've been at this a while and I was entirely determined to get what I wanted." He took his left hand out from behind his head and offered it to her. Tentatively, Hermione took it, in a repeat of the day of the mediation, gripping his wrist and once again feeling his pulse under her hand. "The delivery relied on basic anatomy: if my hand is on your wrist, there are two arteries that run right underneath my hand, on either side of the inside of your wrist, which draw the poison down and directly into your circulation." He released her hand. "I'm actually fairly impressed you resisted as successfully as you did." 

Hermione looked at the ceiling, "'Any means to achieve their ends...'" she quoted. 

"Exactly," Lucius answered. "And I regret none of it." 

"Can I ask you another one?" Hermione asked.

Lucius sighed and took his hand back. "That depends on the nature of your inquiry."

"What would you have me do, given free rein?" she asked. "I said that night at your house that I would let you do anything you wanted."

"I recall it perfectly," he said, the edge creeping back into his voice.

"Well, what would it have been?"

Lucius looked at her. "I would have preferred that you do it sight unseen, as you promised."

Hermione screwed up her face. "I'm afraid I wasn't that brave, not then, not even now, perhaps not ever and to be completely honest, I will likely never trust you as far as that. But it was wrong of me to go back on my word. I'm sorry." Lucius said nothing. Hermione knew that he would not be quick to forgive her, but she had to start somewhere. "So...what would you have me do?" Lucius still didn't answer. "If you tell me, I might actually do it one day," Hermione offered. 

Lucius finally smiled. He gently took her hand off of his chest. "It's late," he said. "I'd hate to keep you from the party any longer. Besides, we can hardly leave the room together, can we?"

Hermione frowned as she sat up. It was almost as if she could see the wall ascending between the two of them with Lucius' reticence. "Then I'd best be going, hadn't I?" Hermione finally asked. She collected her wayward garments, hastily re-dressed and then turned back to him. "What next?" she asked.

"Well," said Lucius, sitting up as well. "For you, NEWT exams start next week and continue into the following week, so I'll manage to run into you at some point with further instructions."

Hermione nodded. "All right," she said. Then she froze with sudden realization. "It--it won't be during NEWT exams, will it?" 

Lucius smiled. "Would that prove distracting for you?" 

"Terribly," Hermione answered, her voice tense. 

Lucius' smile turned cruel. "Then you leave me no choice. During NEWT exams is when it shall be." 

Hermione closed her eyes. "You truly cannot wait two weeks?" She opened her eyes to glare at him.

"Of course I can," Lucius answered, "but I see absolutely no reason why I should. You can always say no, of course, but that would defeat the purpose of our little game. I won't even tell you during which NEWT exam I will ask for your...company. I prefer to enjoy your anticipation and uncertainty. It should make your exams much more interesting."

Hermione blanched. "I meant _between_ exams, because that would be bad enough. Do you mean to tell me you're going to do it to me _during_ an exam?"

Lucius got up off the bed and started to dress as well. "As a Board Member, I have an obligation to proctor the NEWT exams, so I could certainly find some pretext to summon you during one of them, as I happily possess the power to do so legitimately," he explained as he pulled on his trousers. "You see, Miss Granger, that is one of the spectacular perks of being me: if I wish to put my cock in you, say, next week or the following, all I have to do is crook my finger and you'll have little choice but to come to me, all under the virtuous guise of the much-lauded NEWT exams." He now pulled his shirt back on and freed his hair. "It is, as you've said, a shameless abuse of my power, but there's a certain freedom in you already knowing that I'm not above such underhanded techniques, particularly when it delivers my own ends or perhaps your... _end_." He smirked as he buttoned his shirt. "However, I daresay you won't regret it." He raised both eyebrows, looking sadistically delighted. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see what I do, won't we?"

Hermione sighed. There was really nothing to be done. She was at his mercy once again. Hermione put her sneakers back on and gathered her fancy shoes. As she did, she realized that she was starving. She looked back at Lucius. "Until next time, Mr. Malfoy."

She turned away from him. "Miss Granger?" he called her back.

"Yes?" 

He smiled one last time. "If the anticipation is more than you can stand, you always have your candle."

Hermione's face burned and she gritted her teeth. "Thank you, just for being part of my life, and for being you," she said solemnly. 

"My pleasure."

CHAPTER 32: INTIMIDATION

Hermione walked to the end of the Room of Requirement and waited for the door to manifest. When it did, she opened it, stepped through, closed it, and collapsed against it, letting out her breath. Despite Lucius' dire warnings about another encounter during NEWTs, Hermione could not stop smiling. With one shaking hand, she adjusted her bra strap and then, because she had put on her underwear in haste, adjusted it as best she could with her gown still on before walking purposefully down the hall and around the corner. 

Hermione made a stop in the girls' bathroom once again, where she made a more concentrated effort to re-establish her appearance, as in her current state, she definitely looked like she had been doing...exactly what she _had_ been doing. She ducked into a stall to assess her undergarment situation properly. After a few minutes of trying, she finally got fed up, took the entire gown off and then put it back on. She then exited the stall, took out her wand and re-did her hair charm, grateful for her solitude. She considered changing back into her fancy shoes, but decided that this late in the evening, no one would care, so she kept her sneakers on and headed down into the Great Hall once again. 

The crowd had dwindled down, but the band still played, mostly slow songs. Hermione headed back to the buffet and loaded a plate with steak tips, roasted potatoes, greens: athlete food. She carried it back to an empty table and devoured it. After she finished, she looked around to see if anyone from Gryffindor was still downstairs. Seamus and Dean were sitting at another table, playing Exploding Snap. Hermione looked towards the back of the Great Hall, in time to see Harry and Ginny returning, breathless and laughing from somewhere, Harry's already messy hair even more tousled and Ginny's cheeks pink. She smiled. Ginny needed a reprieve and Hermione hoped with all her heart she had found it with Harry.

Hermione turned back towards the entrance to the Great Hall and saw Fred and George coming back in, but there was a certain grimness to the two of them that definitely had not been there before. As Hermione watched, they pulled Ginny aside. Harry went to join Dean and Seamus' game of Exploding Snap. Hermione could see the twins talking to Ginny, looking alarmed and for once, absolutely serious. Ginny's face showed incredulity and bemusement. Her intuition tingling, Hermione stood slowly and made their way over to them.

When she got close, she caught bits of the conversation. "...none of your business," Ginny was saying, her hands on her hips as she faced her two elder brothers. "And second of all, regardless of what you think you saw, did she appear to be in any distress whatsoever?"

"Well, no, quite the opposite really," said Fred, "but still--"

"Shh, here she comes," George hissed, looking up at Hermione. 

Ginny gave him a withering look. "Oh, very smooth," she said. 

Hermione looked at the three of them. "What were you talking about?" she asked.

Ginny glared at her brothers. "These two idiots," she said, as Fred and George looked panicked and tried to make movements to shush her, "Think that you were having sex with Lucius Malfoy in the Room of Requirement." 

Even as her stomach plummeted, Hermione managed to snort. "What?" 

"Well, we saw you come out," said Fred awkwardly.

"And then, about 20 minutes later, we saw him come out," finished George.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "And...based on that limited information...that's the conclusion that you drew," she said slowly. She looked at the ceiling, as if for inspiration. "Merlin's beard, where to start...For the time being, let's breeze right on over the extremely insulting part where you think it's plausible that I would actually do something like that and just focus on the practical aspects. But first of all, no one in your family seems to have the heart to tell you this, so I'm going to have to be the fortunate one: there comes a point where it's not funny, but actually rather creepy to spy on mostly-underage kids hooking up now that you've left Hogwarts." 

For her part, Ginny laughed at the twins' shocked faces.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Second of all, you said 20 minutes elapsed from the time I left to the time a certain 'former' Death Eater of our acquaintance departed." She paused and looked from Fred to George and back. "That's actually a really long time. Did you skulk around to see who followed _him_ out?"

The twins exchanged a glance. "No," they said together. 

"Are you starting to see the flaw in your own logic?"

The twins looked at each other, dubiously. George spoke this time. "So...what were you doing in there?"

Hermione beckoned them in, grinning furtively. When they were about two inches away, she whispered, "None of your business." 

"That's what I told them," Ginny sighed. 

Hermione shook her head. "Really, the two of you are worse than Rita Skeeter," she said.

The twins had the grace to look abashed. Fred looked at Hermione. "I suppose it was pretty far-fetched, but--" he cut off, looking intently at Hermione's left shoulder. 

"Can I help you with something?" she asked.

Fred reached over and slowly removed a long, straight, platinum blond hair from her gown. He held it up in front of him and George. "I'm suddenly having the most intense craving for--"

"Polyjuice potion," the twins finished together, leering at Hermione. 

Hermione shrugged. "That could be anyone's," she said, although her heart was now racing.

"Except that it's not, is it?" Fred said, his grin widening. 

"Only one way to find out," George said. 

"All right, you've had your laugh at Hermione's expense," Ginny said with some heat in her voice, enough for Hermione to feel slightly endeared towards her. "Now cut it out."

The twins backed off. "Fine, fine," Fred said airily. "None of our business, loads of elapsed time..."

"Any number of wild possibilities..." George said. 

"Thank you," Hermione called to their retreating backs. She turned back to Ginny, who was now looking at her with a strange expression that bordered suspicion and affection. "What?" Hermione asked.

"Watch yourself," said Ginny quietly, "I won't always be able to cover for you." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Hermione alone. Hermione watched her leave, speechless. She felt as if someone could have knocked her over with a quill; why on earth was Ginny standing up for her and, even more uncannily, for Lucius? 

Hermione stood rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to decide what to do. The problem with Fred and George was that they had spent too much time getting away with all manner of mischief, so she was positive that they didn't believe her. Hermione sighed in annoyance, knowing that if the twins hadn't found the very distinctive, unmistakable hair, she might have gotten away with it. If they really did use it for Polyjuice, nothing would save either her or Lucius. Hermione found it unlikely that the twins would tell anyone their suspicions, but the fact that they themselves knew presented a major problem. Also, the bigger fuss she made out of it, the worse it would be, particularly considering the enmity already present between the two families.

At the very least, she had to tell Lucius what had happened, which meant acting quickly and if she had any hope of salvaging the situation that night, Hermione would need his help. Making sure the twins were not following her, Hermione re-traced her footsteps back towards the Room of Requirement. If the twins had just seen Lucius and had come straight down after, they would not have beaten him by too long. Thus, chances were excellent that even if Lucius was going straight home, he would still be on the grounds, as he would have to physically exit somehow before Apparating. The trick would be to catch him alone, but she had already done just that not once, but twice.

Luck was with her a third time as she caught him walking down the path leading from the doors. Hermione sprinted down, using bushes and trees for cover, grateful for her shoe choice. She didn't bother being particularly quiet as Lucius was alone. He caught her when she was about 20 feet away, in a copse of trees. "Another round already, Miss Granger?" he asked, amused. "You're insatiable."

Hermione attempted to catch her breath and tell him at the same time, "Fred--George--Weasley...saw us...outside...Room of Requirement." She massaged a stitch out of her side. 

"What?" Lucius' voice snapped with fury. 

"It's this stupid thing that they do...apparently...wait outside the Room of Requirement...exactly for this reason."

"And how did _you_ find out?"

"They told me. I don't think they intended to, but I came up on them while they were talking to Ginny. I tried to explain that 20 minutes was a long time between when I left and when you left, and that they didn't stick around to see who came out after you, but..." she shook her head. "They found one of your hairs on my dress."

"What did you say at that point?"

"I said it could have been anyone's." 

"And what did they say?"

Hermione didn't want to tell him. She pressed her lips together.

"Well?" 

"P-polyjuice."

Lucius swore. "Come with me," he ordered, turning back towards the castle. "We must teach you how to lie better, but now is hardly the time." 

"They saw you as well, you know," Hermione retorted. "This is as much your fault as it is mine."

"I'd say more like 30-70," Lucius said dryly, starting to walk back towards the castle. 

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, running to catch up to his long strides.

" _I_ am not going to do anything. _We_ are going to deal with them together, but you're going to take point seeing as you were the one who got us into this mess."

They walked back in silence for a time. 

"You know, Miss Granger, you should also start running."

Hermione smiled. "I'll bet you say that to all the people you're about to curse."

"Very clever, but no." Hermione could hear the smile in Lucius' voice as well. "First of all, I have no intention of cursing you, as it would end my life instantly and I'd hate to die, particularly in that careless a fashion. Secondly, I am also very much looking forward to your upcoming NEWT exams. Lastly, when I curse someone, I don't tell them they should start running; I typically ask them why they ran from me in the first place, seeing as how they would only die short of breath." 

It was moments like these that reminded Hermione that she was actually sleeping with an extremely competent, totally remorseless killer. "That's...charming." 

"No, what I meant was, you should start running daily. It would greatly increase your stamina."

Hermione blushed, relieved on account of the darkness. No doubt Lucius was talking about sex, and that did spring to her mind, but it was followed closely by the incident with Lucius' manticore. "I'll keep that in mind," she muttered. 

When they got nearer, Lucius stopped and faced her. "That's close enough," he said. "Now, what do _you_ think we should do?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Classroom 114. It's between the Great Hall and the Slytherin Common Room. Do you know where it is?"

"Of course." 

"Good." Hermione took a deep breath. "I'll bring them there in, say, ten minutes?"

"Fine. What do you plan on doing to them at that point?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I can Obliviate one of them, if you can do the other."

"Obliviate?" In its magnificent sarcasm, Lucius' voice made love to every syllable. "I am a _marginally_ capable wizard, so yes, I think I can handle a memory charm. But are you sure you want to do that? It does have side effects, you know, and none are pleasant."

Hermione sighed irritably. "I don't know. I'm not the criminal mastermind you are."

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger. In addition to being able to cast the occasional spell, I'm also decent at applying pressure to people when it's called for, _without_ using magic."

"Wait, you're not going to hurt them, are you?"

"Your faith in me is truly humbling. Harming the Weasley twins for something this trivial is far beneath my dignity. The trick lies in finding a vulnerability and exploiting it, and it has to be stronger and more dramatic than our affair. They're Weasleys, so it shouldn't be difficult. However, if I fail, which I won't, we can resort to your plan of Obliviating them. Just follow my lead."

Hermione looked dubious, but she didn't have much of a choice but to trust Lucius and she knew she didn't have a chance on her own. "Ten minutes, then?" 

"Very well, Miss Granger, ten minutes it is. I'll be waiting."

Hermione nodded again. She raced off towards the castle. Fred and George were probably still at the party. Hermione made her way back to the Great Hall, once again catching her breath. Perhaps Lucius was right about running daily; being in better shape could only help and when she left Hogwarts she wouldn't be climbing hundreds of stairs daily. In the Great Hall, Fred and George were sitting down, playing Exploding Snap. Seamus had fallen asleep at the table with his head on his arm. Hermione approached slowly. Fred and George looked up as she came over.

"Can I talk to you two for a moment?" she asked.

Fred and George exchanged a knowing look and then stood together. 

"In private," Hermione said, looking around the table. Dean and Harry exchanged a glance, but then shrugged. Fred and George stood and followed Hermione. She led them to the appropriate classroom and stopped outside the door. The party had decreased to a point that no one had followed them. "In here," she said, opening the door. The only light in the classroom was a rectangle on the floor from the ambient light in the hallway; the rest of the room was pitch black. They walked in. Hermione didn't see Lucius, but she was fairly confident he was in the room, as she had timed it perfectly. She closed the door and took out her wand. "I need to talk to you two about what you saw outside the Room of Requirement," she said, her voice soft. " _Lumos._ " The tip of her wand lit up, putting the twins' faces into sharp relief. 

"Hey," said Fred, "If you don't want to tell us, it's none of our business, like you said."

"Yeah," said George, "We're the last ones who should judge anyone."

"But if it's a matter of someone hurting you in any way--"

"We've got your back, Granger, is what we're trying to say." 

Hermione swallowed. "You're not making this easy," she said, guilt slipping into her abdomen like lead.

"Making what easy?" they asked.

Hermione kept her wand up. "For what is about to happen, I sincerely apologize," she said. 

" _Lumos,_ " said Lucius. His wand created a second light, not six feet from where Hermione was standing, facing the twins. Merlin, but he was quiet. He closed the distance and stood next to Hermione. Lucius looked at the twins, a smile playing on his face. He bent close to Hermione's ear. "Nicely done," he said quietly, but so the twins could still hear, before kissing her under the ear as he had done before. All the hair went up on the back of Hermione's neck. Lucius looked back at the twins. 

"OK, wow, we were only joking about the Polyjuice potion," said George shakily.

"Hilarious," replied Lucius. 

Fred and George looked at Hermione with incredulity and no small amount of betrayal. Hermione's stomach turned. 

"Really? We were right?" said Fred.

"I hate being right," said George, grimly.

"What happened to not judging?" Hermione asked, her non-wand hand on her hip.

"We're not judging," Fred said. "We get it. If you have to polish someone's wand it may as well be a world-famous Quidditch champion's or a rich, influential, powerful Dark Wizard's..."

"Who could pave the way easily for someone willing to give him what he wants..."

"In other words, not a Weasley," George said.

"A Weasley's not good enough for the likes of you, right Granger?" Fred asked.

"No, she's got a Death Eater to keep her company, Fred."

Hermione knew they would take it badly, especially after what had happened with Ginny, but she straightened her spine, determined not to take their abuse. "Former Death Eater. And if you're talking about Ron, _that_ Weasley, he had his chance, _multiple_ chances over seven years, and he blew every single one," she snapped. "And it's nice to be around someone who knows what he wants for a change and isn't afraid to take it. Your procrastinating, waffling little brother would do well to take notes. Some confidence, proficiency, and maturity would do him a world of good." Hermione felt sudden chest heaviness, as if someone was sitting on her, not letting her get enough air. She took a few deep breaths, being careful to maintain her composure despite her alarm. 

"As to not judging," Lucius added, "I find myself reminded of a sordid little episode in my Knockturn Alley nightclub involving the pair of you and a part-Veela burlesque dancer."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. The weight pressing on her torso was starting to lessen somewhat. She looked from Lucius to the twins and back. 

Lucius turned towards her. "Well, suffice to say, they _do_ share everything. At the same time and from one or both ends, to hear her tell it. Actually, I believe the word she used was _wandfight_. Granted, I didn't hire her for her wit, but from time to time, she can turn a phrase. In any event, I didn't bother asking her to elaborate seeing as it's no business of mine." He turned and now addressed the twins once more. "Speaking of business, yours must be doing spectacularly if you can afford to bestow those sorts of perversions on my most popular dancer." 

"She was hardly complaining," Fred argued, a crooked smile on his face.

"And neither was Hermione, so perhaps we could try acting like adults next time and exercise some discretion, or better yet, mind our own affairs," Lucius said.

"That's the third time we've heard that tonight, isn't it, Fred?"

"Right," Hermione said, "Because as you've even admitted, it's not your business. Not even a little. Neither of you is my boyfriend, my brother, or my father, and even if you were, what I do with my body and my life and why I do it is my own affair." 

"You do realize who you're climbing into bed with, don't you, Hermione?" Fred said. His voice was quiet, and Hermione had almost never heard him sound so serious. "He gave Ginny Tom Riddle's diary--"

"He would have let the You-Know-Who kill Harry--" George cut in.

"He led the other Death Eaters against Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Harry--"

"Not to mention you--"

"Had Buckbeak sentenced to death--"

"And tried to get Dad fired about a hundred times."

No one spoke for a moment. "That's quite the list of indictments," Lucius finally said, "But you've forgotten a fundamental problem."

"Yeah, and what's that?" George said, sneering. 

"Besides being aware your questionable leisure-time pursuits, I am also well aware of your professional dealings, _all_ of your professional dealings." Lucius took something out of his pocket that Hermione couldn't see and showed it to the twins.

Hermione watched in amazement as they both turned pale in the wand light. "How did you get that?" Fred asked, his voice hushed.

"I shouldn't worry about that," Lucius answered loftily, "At this moment, you have more pressing concerns. My suggestion is that the two of you forget what you saw tonight. However, when you see Miss Granger, I must insist that you treat her with the same deference you would treat anyone important to me. Bearing in mind the information I possess about _you_ and how you wouldn't want me to leverage it, I am assured I can count on your silence in this matter." The twins said nothing, just glared at Lucius. 

"Now," Lucius concluded, "Because you've caught me in an extraordinarily good mood..." His eyes swept up and down Hermione's body before looking at the twins again, "I won't even tell Miss Granger what I just showed you. Finally, you two gentlemen should bear in mind that if you wish to frolic in my backyard, you too will eventually end up in bed with me, a place from which you truly will have no right to judge our mutual friend here." 

George turned his attention to Hermione. "He must be a tremendous lay," he said darkly. 

"I think we're done here," Hermione said in response. "And that wasn't very deferential at all." 

"Excuse me, _Miss Granger._ My brother and I would beg your leave to depart," George said frostily, bowing to her.

"From underneath the shoe of you and your new boyfriend," Fred finished.

"He's not my boyfriend. But my leave is granted. Go away now," Hermione answered heavily. It was regrettable that as soon as she was starting to mend things with one Weasley, things would go awry with two others. The twins glared at her and Lucius one more time before leaving, closing the door quietly behind them. 

"That was surprisingly enjoyable," Lucius said.

"That's the spirit," Hermione muttered. She looked towards the door. "I do feel terrible though."

"Chest pain?"

Hermione looked at him, surprised. "How did you know that?"

Lucius shrugged. "Healing lore: it's your body's way of reminding you to maintain an Unbreakable Vow when you come close to violating it."

"How did I...?"

"You hinted at our relationship and thus came close to breaking the future clause. It doesn't affect me, because I'm assured they'll keep our little secret, but the particular magic powering an Unbreakable Vow will not recognize the difference. Ergo, when you dance on that knife's edge, it will apply pressure to your heart, hence the chest pain."

"Oh," said Hermione, rattled. "That's still not exactly what I meant; I meant that I felt bad about doing that to Fred and George."

"Your guilt is wasted on them," Lucius said disdainfully.

"They're good people," Hermione responded.

Lucius shook his head. He reached up and ran the back of his hand softly down the side of Hermione's face. "Oh, my sweet, innocent Miss Granger. How little you truly know. In reality, and by reality, I refer of course to the wide and unsavory world that lies beyond Hogwarts' magical protection, the Weasley twins are slippery, perverted hypocrites. They seek and obtain carnal knowledge of anything that holds still long enough, but it doesn't matter if they're saints or if they're Inferi. They won't care if you feel guilty or not, so you may as well not. In fact, you'll find that most people don't care in the slightest about your guilt, so as emotions go, it's entirely pointless." 

"Spoken like the Lucius Malfoy I know and despise."

"You don't despise me," Lucius said, smiling. "I may not be your boyfriend, but I know what I want and I'm not afraid to take it. Isn't that right?" 

"Oh, would you stop? I didn't say that for your benefit," Hermione said, exasperated. She massaged her closed eyes with one hand.

"Nonetheless, you know how I feel about stroking, both accidental and intentional."

Hermione suddenly felt exhausted. "Are we done yet?" She moved her hand to rub the back of her neck. 

"Very nearly, Miss Granger, but let me check something first."

"Check what?" Hermione asked.

Lucius smiled cryptically. He walked around her with his wand out, looking her up and down.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking to make sure that I left nothing behind, which by the way, is something you should have been done when you left the Room of Requirement."

"It was _your_ thrice-damned hair," Hermione pointed out. "Why is it my responsibility?"

"I'll cut it all off if you ask," Lucius said from behind her, "Doing so probably would be smarter in the long run. The Dark Lord lacks both hair and eyebrows; although he's never disclosed it to me personally, Polyjuice is likely the reason why..."

She whirled around. "Do it and you can go stroke yourself, and I mean forever," she said vehemently. 

"Temper, temper," Lucius said, but there was amusement in his eyes. "Rest assured, Miss Granger, I wouldn't dream of doing anything that might close those legs of yours." 

"Well," said Hermione, "Right now the only thing I'm going to be doing with my legs is using them to carry me up to bed."

"Sweet dreams then, Miss Granger."

"Good night." She turned away and headed for the door. At the threshold, she opened it and then turned back towards Lucius. "Thank you, though, for helping me," Hermione said.

"We're--"

"Not friends. Don't worry; I remember." 

"--going to be seeing each other again soon. That's all I was going to say."

"Oh..." Hermione said, thrown for a moment. "Well then, good night."

"To you as well." 

Hermione stepped out into the hallway, looked both ways and, upon seeing no one, made her careful way back to her own room, stopping at the girls' restroom for her shoes. Once in her own room, she stripped off the gown and fancy undergarments, trading them for her tee-shirt and shorts. She used her wand to remove her make-up and took her hair down, shaking it out. 

She lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling, exhausted, yet exhilarated. Aside from the dratted Weasley twins, the night had been everything she had hoped for, and it was only the beginning. Sighing contentedly, Hermione fell asleep.


	11. 33: In Bed; 34: Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the express purpose of diverting him away from a now very unavailable Hermione, Fred and George take a dejected Ron out for a night on the town, mercifully easing his passage into manhood. During this, the twins inadvertently have a run-in with Lucius Malfoy and find, to their dismay, that Lucius will not be satisfied until he has put his fingers in every pie there is, including theirs. As threatened, during NEWTs, Hermione and Lucius have another illicit romp in Hogwarts' hallowed halls, at the end of which, Lucius issues a challenge that Hermione steels herself to meet. 
> 
> _"Well then, let us proceed with the oral exam," Lucius answered. "Part the first will be a series of questions that I will ask and you will answer and part the second will be an oral exam of an entirely different nature."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm two days late, I know. But this one is a monster, a monster that started at 8,000 words and doubled to 16,000, those 8,000 words being brand-new content, above and beyond what would have just been smutty Lucius/Hermione stuff (which is still in there, don't you worry). I _did_ have to come up with a few minor OCs for the Fred and George chapter, which I never really love having to do, but I'm ultimately happy with the end result and that chapter was pretty fun to write. And, for what it's worth, I am not sorry in the slightest for the terrible joke in the chapter summary. I regret nothing. _Nothing._
> 
> Also, if you want auditory assistance for what _Dance Like a Hippogriff_ actually sounds like in its entirety, here you go:  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoiGYKWuFdM
> 
> It was sadly cut for the final film version of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ , but thankfully, it is on YouTube. You're welcome.

CHAPTER 33: IN BED

Fred Weasley looked morosely out the window of the joke shop, his chin in his hand. Rain was pouring in sheets outside, sluicing down the brightly-decorated windows as the sky darkened for the evening. It was two days after the 7th Year Ball. Fred should have felt content following such a night, but his memory of the typically jubilant event was irrevocably marred by he and George's run-in with slippery ex-criminal and all-around arrogant bastard Lucius Malfoy. 

It was disturbing enough that Malfoy Senior had somehow sunk those venomous serpent fangs of his into Hermione Granger of all people, and seemingly with her permission, but the fact that he was now implicitly blackmailing Fred and George was just the foam on the Butterbeer. That turn of events was completely unexpected, not to mention unwanted. Fred watched the people in the street below him, wizards and witches going about their business in Diagon Alley, making last-minute runs to the shops before they closed. He sighed. It was so unfair: it wasn't as if he or George would have made any trouble for Hermione; they were just having fun with her. They had been fully prepared to let the entire thing go, even in light of what had happened between Malfoy Junior and Ginny. In fact, the only reason that they had opted to turn the screw on her instead was because she had lured them away and then sprung her trap when their guard was down. 

Fred stood up and walked down the stairs to the main floor of the joke shop. George was already down there, playing with a new prototype. He had taken a cheap Muggle paddle-ball game, the type with a balsa wood paddle with a rubber ball and band attached, and had enchanted it so that every time he smacked the ball with the paddle, the ball would change into a miniature animal and would make its noise before changing again with the next smack. The twins had gotten close to having it ready for market, but it had an unfortunate and, at that moment, fatal flaw: after about twenty smacks, it would turn into a jellyfish and on the subsequent hit would fly apart, which not only broke the bloody thing, but was completely disgusting and not in a hey-look-at-this-cool-but-gross-thing-the-Weasleys-made way.

George looked up at him as Fred descended the stairs, giving him a bright smile. "I think I've got it, Fred," he said gleefully. 

Fred returned his twin's smile; seeing it always cheered him up again, reminded him not to be down because he always had an ally in his brother. Fred leaned against the stair railing and folded his arms. He jerked his chin in his brother's direction. "Let's see, then."

George wedged his tongue between his teeth and started smacking the ball. It turned into a frog, which croaked, then a cow that mooed, and then a cat, and then a mouse, and then a dog, on and on. Fred bit his lip and squinted, cautiously optimistic. "I got it, Fred!" George exclaimed in triumph. "I mean it this time, I--" The jellyfish of doom suddenly appeared and George attempted to pull the paddle out of the way, but was just a tenth of a second too late as the jellyfish committed violent, messy suicide on the paddle, exploding into George's face and spiky ginger hair. 

As much as he had wanted it to work this time, Fred had preemptively made a point to stay out of the way and now was almost doubled over laughing. George glared at him. "Well, that's the first time it's done that since you went upstairs," he said defensively, but Fred knew he wasn't actually angry, and after a moment, George laughed as well.

Fred recovered, snorting. "Don't worry, George, premature explosion happens to loads of guys." 

George took out his wand. _"Evanesco_ ," he said, pointing it at the bits of goop around him. They disappeared at least from his person. Fred smirked, thinking about how they both had to perfect that particular spell at a very young age. Just then, the bell above the shop door tinkled. The twins both looked up to see who was visiting the joke shop a mere ten minutes before close.

It was Ron, on a short school recess between when classes ended and when NEWTs started. "Hey," he said, running his hands through his damp hair. He sounded as dejected as Fred had felt prior to George's exploding jellyfish episode.

"Why so down in the mouth, little brother?" Fred asked him. "Did you not enjoy your 7th Year Ball?"

"Yeah, you and Lav seemed to be getting it off--I mean, _hitting_ it off," George chimed in, grinning.

Ron glanced at him. "It wasn't that great, to be honest," he said. 

"Didn't get our wand wet, eh, little bro?" Fred tilted his head sympathetically. "Well, better luck next time." 

Ron's eyes drifted away. "Something like that," he muttered. 

George suppressed his grin somewhat. "Come on, Ron, tell us all about it. We won't tease you."

"Yeah, we swear," Fred said, also attempting to keep a straight face.

Ron looked between the two of them. It was clear by the expression on his face that he didn't believe either of them, but even more clear that he wanted to talk to someone. "I may have called her someone else's name while she was, uh...doing me a favor," he mumbled.

Fred winced and pulled his breath between his teeth in sympathy. "Oh, that's not..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't think you can recover from that one." 

"Whose name did you say?" George asked.

Ron muttered something else.

"What?" the twins said together.

"Hermione," Ron mumbled, staring at the floor. He poked at one of the errant jellyfish bits still on the floor with the toe of his sneaker before looking back up. 

"What did Lavender think of that?" Fred asked, dreading the answer.

Ron tilted his head back up once more, looking thoroughly miserable. "Well, she stood up from where she was kneeling in front of me and hit me in the face." He turned his head to the side and sure enough, a purple welt graced Ron's jaw, no doubt from a ring. 

George whistled. "Count yourself lucky she didn't bite anything off," he said dryly. 

"Anyway," Ron sighed, "I guess it's for the best because I was thinking of trying to start things back up with Hermione again."

"No!" both the twins said in unison and so sharply that Ron looked at them in surprise. 

"What? Why?"

Fred and George exchanged an uneasy look. Finally, Fred spoke. He put an arm around Ron's shoulders to soften the blow of what he was going to say. "Look, Ron, I'm going to try and let you down as easily as I possibly can: you had your chance with her over seven years."

George met Fred's eyes and his own glinted mischievously. " _Multiple_ chances and you blew every single one." 

"Basically what we're saying is that at this point, I think Hermione is looking for someone with some confidence, maturity, and proficiency."

"And you procrastinated, and you waffled, and now it's, well...It's not you." 

Ron nodded. "You're probably right."

"Besides, why now?" George asked, now serious after under-handedly passing Hermione's message to Ron. "Is it even what you really want?"

"I don't know what I want," Ron answered, his voice quiet.

"Exactly," Fred said with satisfaction. "I'm telling you this with love, Ron: leave it alone. Finishing up at Hogwarts and getting out is the best possible thing for both of you right now: you've both been holed up in that incestuous grindylow tank for far too long."

"Yeah, there's a whole world outside of Hogwarts, you know," George added sagely. "Full of different girls and other stuff..."

"She looked so amazing though," Ron said, his eyes traveling out the window once more in recollection. "The night of the Ball..." He let his voice taper off.

 _But not for you,_ Fred thought, but didn't dare say it out loud. The truth of the matter was that Hermione was out of Ron's league, perhaps had always been out of his league, and with certain new developments, the span between them had become stratospheric. Additionally, as Hermione had said, even when Ron did have a chance with her, he had failed, not once, but time after time, never really learning his lesson. Even though Fred would rather eat the jellyfish bits off the shop floor than admit it, he had to agree with Hermione: whatever else people said about Malfoy Senior, he definitely knew what he wanted and had no problem doing whatever it took to get it.

The clock at Gringotts struck six o'clock. "Time to close up," George said. 

"I'll just be going then," Ron said.

Fred felt a twinge of remorse at seeing Ron so dejected. "Nonsense," he said. "We'll buy you dinner." He looked at George, who nodded.

"Really?" Ron brightened up, as he always did when food was mentioned. 

"Sure; it'll take your mind off of everything," George said bracingly. 

Ron half smiled. "Cheers," he said. The twins shut off the lights and locked the doors before heading out into the rain. They took Ron to the Leaky Cauldron, where all three of them ate, in no rush. Various witches and wizards stopped by their table to visit and socialize. Before they knew it, it was 8:30. Ron yawned. The twins had plied him liberally with adult beverages, and he was clearly starting to feel the effects. Fred figured it was the least they could do after essentially telling him Hermione was too good for him. Even though Fred hadn't told him the full truth, he fervently believed that Ron needed to get Hermione out of his system once and for all, especially now that there was another, very dangerous party involved. Fred felt, as Ron's brothers, he and George had a particular obligation to steer Ron in another direction, any other direction but Hermione. 

As Ron staggered away from the table to use the toilet, Fred beckoned George in to have a word in his ear. "You know what we should do for Ron?" Fred asked.

"Buy him dinner. Oh, wait--" George looked thoughtful, tapping his chin with a finger while looking up at the Leaky Cauldron's smoky, greasy half-timbered ceiling.

"Find him some grown-up company of the supple, willing, female type." Fred raised his eyebrows diabolically. 

Where Fred was expecting George to smile, he looked perturbed. "If you're thinking Patrona, it's a bad idea."

Fred frowned, disappointed in his twin's reaction. "I don't see why. We're not breaking any rules."

"You do remember who owns Patrona, don't you?" George asked.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Of course I do, but there's two things you need to remember." He held up two fingers. "First, as I said, we've done nothing wrong: in fact, we've kept our mouths shut admirably, especially seeing as we just had the chance to blow the whole affair wide open with poor, heart-broken Ron. Second, it's not as if the owner _lives_ there..."

"I'd live there if I owned it," George said fervently, shaking his head.

Fred nodded. "No doubt either of us would. Fantastic place, Patrona. Very comfortable indeed, but the point is, _he_ might not be there at all tonight. Even if he is, we'll just keep a low profile, mind our business as we've been reprimanded to do and leave more satisfied than we came in, which, need I remind you, is the entire point of the place. We'd not be breaking any laws." He sat back.

George lowered his eyebrows before finally relaxing and looking resigned to it, although Fred knew George wanted to go there as badly as he did. "All right. Do we have the funds for it?"

Fred nodded again. "We just moved the last shipment out today, so we're pretty flush right at the moment." 

George nodded as well, the mirror of Fred from a few seconds before. "Patrona it is, then." 

Just then, Ron returned from the bathroom. "I munna gome," he managed. 

Fred and George stood at the same time. "Not just yet, little brother," Fred said, smiling at George over Ron's head. Each of them took one of Ron's arms.

"First of all, you can't drink and Apparate: that's a surefire way to Splinch," George said, all brotherly protection.

"Second of all, we have a surprise for you." 

"Yeah, whas zat?" Ron looked between the two of them blearily.

"Follow us," the twins said together. Fred settled the tab with Tom and the brothers Weasley walked out onto the wet street. They held Ron up between the two of them as he shuffled along. 

"Is he sober enough to do this?" George asked Fred over Ron's head.

"Sober enough to do what?" Ron asked, looking between Fred and George and speaking with more clarity now that he was moving his body somewhat.

Fred nodded. "He'll be fine," he said, ignoring Ron. "We'll watch the show for a bit and when the time is right, we'll...detach him."

"Detach what? What are you talking about?" Ron asked, sounding bewildered.

"Don't worry your pretty head about it," Fred said reassuringly. They turned right at Knockturn Alley, making their way around the occasional witch or wizard also looking for a good time, or a shady deal, or perhaps both. Most of Knockturn Alley was dark and sinister, which made Patrona shine all the more vibrantly, the bright jewel of the alley. Magical orbs of light floated around its entrance, all white and blue, moving in different patterns around the glowing sign. 

"Whoa," said Ron, looking up with his mouth open. "What is this place?" 

"Only the best, most fun place ever," George said, rolling his eyes.

"You'll love it," Fred agreed.

The bouncer, a half-troll named Jed stopped them. "Who's this then?" he growled. He had an underbite with prominent, pointed teeth jutting from a massive lower jaw, generally making him speak in one-syllable words. It gave people the impression of slow-wittedness, but the truth was that he was quick and perceptive in addition to being strong and able to heal instantly in the manner of his kind, making him the ultimate bouncer, all the better for the fact that everyone underestimated his intelligence.

"This is Ron," Fred said slowly, as if explaining to someone for whom English was not a primary language. "Our younger brother."

"He's a virgin," George stage whispered.

Ron whirled on him, scowling. 

"It's true," George said with an air of wide-eyed innocence.

"It's just a state of being," Fred explained philosophically.

"And a temporary one at that," George added. 

"A _very_ temporary one."

"Shut up. Don't care. Go in," Jed said, waving them through with a large, grayish-green hand. Fred reached into his pocket and brought out fifteen Galleons, tipping them into Jed's hand for the cover. The price of admission was high, so it wasn't as if Fred and George went to Patrona every night, but when they did, they found the experience well worth the price. Jed grunted and slid the Galleons into a slot in his money box. 

Once inside, Ron's mouth fell open again. The nightclub was decorated in sheer fabric drapery ranging in color from navy blue to turquoise to white. Some of the silks fell from the ceiling over the large, raised stage, where at that moment three dancers hung suspended doing a graceful aerial routine. The band played sensuous, Middle Eastern-inspired music, slow to match the languid beauty of the dance. The dancers wore cupless bras made of strung pearls enchanted to glow softly, lighting their bared breasts for the captivated audience. They wore matching g-strings embroidered with lit pearls as well and their elaborately up-done hair was caught in turquoise headbands. Matching pearl-trimmed turquoise sleeves covered their wrists and forearms. The effect was glorious and Fred felt his cock stir in his trousers at the spectacle. _Merlin, every time,_ he thought as the blonde one flipped upside-down in a split and had the cheek to wink at him. 

Fred swallowed. George was right; if they owned the place, they would probably never leave. _Speaking of owning the place..._ Fred looked around, especially in the VIP lounge, to the upper left of the stage but didn't see Malfoy. Granted, the place was hopping so it was hard to pick out anyone specific anyway, but Fred let out a sigh of relief anyway. If Fred had to admit it, he was more than a little envious of Malfoy's business savvy. Malfoy had bought the dilapidated old warehouse what seemed like mere moments after getting out of prison, fixed it up to its current state, hired the dancers, the waitresses, the bartenders, the band, the bouncers, and turned Patrona into what must surely be a Galleon-stamping factory. 

Ron stared at the dancers, practically drooling. Fred smirked. This was a great idea, possibly the best he and George had ever had, second only to opening a joke shop. Standing at a high desk before them was the hostess, a petite brunette named Yvonne, with long, curly hair and dimples that showed up when she smiled, which was a lot. Tonight she wore a pink brocade corset over a white peasant blouse, cut low to show the tops of her full breasts, and a short pink skirt with loads of ruffles and bows that didn't quite cover her round little rear. On her head was a miniature white satin top hat and on her hands were dainty fingerless white lace gloves. She wore lace-topped white thigh-high stockings and pink high heeled boots. All in all, she reminded Fred of a nursery rhyme involving a shepherdess and some wayward magical creatures, _Nelly and the Naughty Kneazles: that was it,_ he recalled. "Hi, boys!" she shrieked, coming around to give each of the twins an enthusiastic hug. 

Fred hugged her back when it was his turn. "Yvonne, meet Ron, our little brother," he said when she broke their embrace. 

"Hi, Ron!" she said equally enthusiastically, giving him a hug as well and taking the opportunity to press her breasts against Ron's midsection. "Great to meet you."

"Um," Ron greeted her back, looking down at her impressive cleavage now inches below his face, all while patting her awkwardly. 

"Ron's a virgin," George volunteered.

"But he won't be when we leave here," Fred put in before Yvonne could say anything.

Ron gave him a sharp look, face turning scarlet as the meaning of the evening finally dawned on him. 

Yvonne's lace-gloved hands flew to her mouth and her perfectly arched brows shot up. "Oh my goodness, that's so great!" she said. 

"Thanks," Ron muttered, giving his brothers a dirty look. 

Yvonne beamed at him before she looked back down at her hostess desk. "Now let's see..." she said, consulting a large binder before her. Her generous mouth pouted. "It's going to be tight," she mused.

"W-what?" Ron stammered.

Fred snorted. "Booking," he whispered to his poor little brother. "Tight booking. It's a busy night."

Ron's face turned red once more. "Of course...busy," he said, attempting completely unsuccessfully to play it off. "That's what she meant." 

Yvonne looked up and smiled once again. "You're in luck: the Rowan Room has availability at 10:00. Should I put him down for a slot?" 

Fred nodded. "You go right ahead and put him down for a _slot,_ Yvonne," he said, throwing his brother an innuendo-laden look. George grinned back at him. 

"All right, Ron, you've got it. Have fun, all right?" Yvonne gave Ron a huge double thumbs up and one more million-Galleon grin. Ron looked as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor, a wonderful, shifting magical mosaic of different Patronus animals following each other around the club, all amongst magical swirls and squiggles, bright white on different shades of blue. George mercifully steered Ron away to find themselves a table to watch the show. Fred lingered for a moment, understanding that it would not do to settle accounts for Ron's night of bliss right in front of him.

The aerialists had finished and now six new dancers were on stage, wearing short motley dresses, red garters and harlequin masks, dancing to an upbeat piece and performing various acrobatic tricks. Yvonne had turned back to her desk and was shaking her ruffle-pantied rear to the song, lost in her own joyful little world. Fred watched her for just a moment, amused. Even though she was the hostess of what amounted really to a very upscale brothel, Yvonne still had an innocence about her that Fred sincerely hoped this place wouldn't ever take from her. Also, she seemed like she was having so much fun, he hated to interrupt her, but eventually he tapped her gently on the arm. She turned to him and smiled. "Yes?" she said, batting her eyelashes dramatically.

"Can we settle the room account now?" Fred asked. "I didn't want to do it front of Ron...you understand..."

"Of course, sure!" Yvonne said. "Who did you want to book for him? First, do you want a female someone or a male someone?" 

Fred looked out over the crowd to where George had found them a table from which he and Ron were now watching the dancers. "A female someone. It should be someone non-threatening, approachable, friendly..."

Yvonne pouted again. "Mischa?" she thought out loud. "No, she's having her woman times..." Fred almost laughed out loud. As charming as she was, Yvonne was both a close talker and an over-sharer. "Bella? No, too intense." She gave Fred a sudden look of warning. "Not Portia."

Fred shook his head. "No way. She might scare him off naughty, grown-up fun forever." _And I can't afford her again,_ he added to himself. Portia was the part-Veela dancer Malfoy had mentioned the night of he and Hermione's ambush. Portia had indeed been amazing, a little _too_ amazing, and on this night, far beyond his and George's means. The one notorious, glorious, literally intoxicating night he and his brother had sampled her delights had been in celebration of their birthdays back in April, and the experience had set them back 250 Galleons, worth it down to the Knut, but really a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and a little too much for Ron's first time.

"No, what I mean to say is that she's obligated elsewhere for the whole evening," Yvonne said, looking somewhat apologetic, as if it was somehow her fault.

"Ah," Fred said. "No worries."

In watching Yvonne adorably brainstorm, Fred was struck with sudden realization. "You wouldn't want to do it, would you?" he asked. He spread his hands and raised one eyebrow. "You'd be perfection, you know. Merlin, your names even rhyme..." 

"Oh!" Yvonne said, her eyebrows flying up again. "I'll have to get someone to cover the front...but sure, why not? I'll make a man out of your brother." She winked at Fred again. 

Fred shook his head and whistled. "I don't know if anyone can really do that, but good on you for giving it a go. All joking aside, if you would just show him a good time, that's all he really needs. Fifty Galleons, then?" 

Yvonne rolled her eyes. "You know it's forty, Frederick."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to hold firm at fifty." He smiled.

Yvonne grinned again, making her dimples pop. She really would be perfection. "You are too sweet, Fred Weasley. Fifty it is." 

Fred took a promissory note out and forked it over. "A pleasure as always, Yvonne," he said, winking back at her. 

She waved at him before turning back to the desk and her own dancing. Fred made his way over to George and Ron, both of whom were avidly watching the dancers. Fred caught George's eye. _It's all settled,_ he mouthed. 

George smiled and nodded. _Who?_ he mouthed back.

_Yvonne._

George raised his eyebrows and nodded approvingly. _Perfection,_ he mouthed.

Ron, mesmerized, noticed nothing. The brothers Weasley watched the next few pieces. The waitstaff came around, bringing them drinks. Fred and George had pragmatically switched Ron over to Butterbeer immediately, so he could start drying out somewhat for his own performance later. The stage show was delightful, and the band talented, comprised of drums, upright bass, violin, piano, guitar, trumpet, and saxophone. Fred reflected that it was a very pleasant way to spend time. 

After a short while, Yvonne came down and joined them. Without preamble, she sat down on Ron's lap and put her arms around his shoulders. Ron looked surprised and anxious at first, but after a few smiles from her, he started to loosen up just a tad, even laughing at her jokes as Yvonne ran her hand through his hair. Fred watched her flirt with Ron, whispering things in his ear as she traced his jaw with her gloved fingers while Ron white-knuckled the chair he was sitting on. 

Before too long, Yvonne brought her mouth close to Ron's ear and asked him a question. Fred couldn't hear it, but he saw Ron's eyes widen and knew exactly what the question was. Ron slowly turned to face her, doubt on his face. "Really?" he asked.

Yvonne's eyes sparkled. She bit her lip and nodded. She then sprung up from Ron's lap and tugged on his hand. He looked questioningly at Fred and George, who nodded emphatically at him. "Go," they both said, shooing him away. Almost tripping on his giant feet, Ron followed behind Yvonne as she led him to the appointed room. In watching them go, Fred reflected that he wasn't sure if Yvonne was a really good actress or if she genuinely enjoyed her job, perhaps a little of both, but definitely a healthy dose of the latter.

After the happy pair had departed, Fred and George toasted each other in triumph and then drained their glasses before slamming them down on the table in glee. "Did you see the look on his face?" George asked, looking over to where Ron had gone.

"Classic," Fred answered, shaking his head. "I do hope she goes easy on him."

"Or not," George said.

"Or not," Fred agreed. 

They both looked back up at the stage, where two female dancers did a classic, sexy burlesque dance, teasing and flirting both with each other and with the audience. Fred and George watched the show for a bit and when the dance ended, Fred picked up his empty glass. "We seem to be out," he said to George, looking around for a member of the waitstaff. As if by magic, a waiter materialized in front of them. Fred recognized him as one of the male dancers, although he couldn't remember his name. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and eyes, wearing black vinyl trousers cut to accentuate his not-insignificant package, and vinyl suspenders over a washboard stomach and well-developed pecs ( _chesticles,_ George had once called them, to Fred's unending amusement). 

The waiter carried a tray with two tumbler glasses with some sort of amber beverage and a twist of lemon in each. He set them down one at a time on the table. "From the gentleman," he said with a half smile. 

"What 'gentleman?'" Fred asked, already dreading the answer.

The waiter turned his superb torso and tilted his head towards the VIP section where none other than Lucius Malfoy watched their every move, Portia sitting on on his left on the black velveteen couch. The waiter turned back to them. "He wishes for you to join him in the lounge."

"Bloody hell," Fred and George said together. 

The strapping male specimen before them looked at them, nonplussed. "He also wishes for me to tell you that inasumuch as that may sound like a polite request, please do not mistake it as such."

Fred and George exchanged a look of foreboding. They stood at the same time, secured their newly-bought drinks ( _and newly-bought souls,_ Fred thought darkly), and followed the waiter to the stairs that led to the lounge. Another half-troll bouncer stood at the base of the stairs, gray arms folded. He could be Jed's brother, except that he had a massive scar that cleaved his right cheek and part of his jaw, making him look even more fearsome than Jed, if such a thing was even possible. The waiter whispered something in the bouncer's pointed ear, and the bouncer nodded once and stepped aside. The waiter walked them up the short red-carpeted staircase to the VIP lounge.

Malfoy waited for them, a gloating smirk on his face. He looked more casual than Fred was used to seeing: he still wore pinstriped trousers and matching waistcoat, but his white button-down shirt was unbuttoned a few and rolled up at the cuffs, the Dark Mark displayed prominently on his left forearm. Fred imagined at this point, there was little benefit in Malfoy hiding who he truly was. His left arm was curled around Portia, who was now sitting on his lap, with her graceful arms wrapped delicately around Malfoy, her eyes closed and her head extended back, revealing her beautiful neck, her long, almost glowing blonde hair spilling down her bare back. Fred quickly saw the reason for her posture, as Malfoy's right hand was far up Portia's short, white skirt, moving confidently between her parted thighs. 

Malfoy neither stopped, nor slowed, nor even broke eye contact with the Weasley twins as the three men moved into the lounge. The waiter, clearly accustomed to such things, stood by deferentially, a polite smile on his face. _Merlin, it's like a broom wreck,_ Fred thought upon beholding the scene, knowing that decorum dictated that he should look away, but finding himself morbidly fascinated and regrettably turned on by Malfoy's hand bringing the beautiful part-Veela such bliss. Malfoy's smirk widened into a smile at seeing Fred and George so uncomfortable. _One moment,_ he mouthed to the two of them. 

Portia's lips now parted as she approached the apex of her pleasure and her breasts in their sparkling silver bra now moved more rapidly up and down. Fred once again felt his cock stir and he wished more than ever that he could look elsewhere, but that was the problem with Veela magic: even if he wanted to, he just couldn't look away, proving again what a master at business Malfoy truly was. 

Malfoy finally broke eye contact with Fred and tilted his head to whisper something in Portia's ear. Still breathing hard, she opened her eyes and looked at Fred. Her eyes were a piercing blue, like sunlight on ice. As soon as her eyes found Fred's, she came, her back arching and her body shuddering. Fred felt his cock pressing insistently against his trousers, the demanding little bugger. He shifted uncomfortably. Still enjoying her climax, Portia now looked at George, who, Fred saw, was in a similar state. 

Finally, Portia relaxed and Malfoy slid his hand out from between her legs. _Thank you,_ Fred could see her whisper to Malfoy. Malfoy nodded graciously. With Portia and Malfoy so close together, Fred could see that they actually sort of looked alike, both with long blond hair, good bone structure, fair skin, long limbs... _he must really love fucking her,_ Fred thought with distaste, _it'd almost be like fucking a hotter, younger, female version of himself._ It was a disconcerting thought, and Fred dismissed it quickly, particularly in light of the fact that he and George had also experienced the lovely lady in a similarly intimate matter.

Portia stood up, long legs lengthened even more by the high-heeled shoes on her feet. With no shame whatsoever, she adjusted her skirt and gave Fred and George an enigmatic smile before slipping around them, brushing Fred's arm with a breast as she squeezed past him to get down the stairs. Fred swallowed quickly as he watched her disappear, before turning back to Malfoy, who smiled at the two Weasleys in satisfaction, each of his arms now extended over the back of the couch, one leg casually crossed over the other. "Sit down," he said. He took out his wand and waved it once, and immediately the music magically diminished in the lounge. Malfoy then put his wand away and extended his arm over the couch again.

The Weasley twins sat in the two offered soft black armchairs, drinks still in hand. Fred couldn't help but notice that they were facing away from the stage, which would hide the rest of the show from them, which included Portia's dance as she was up next. Fred sighed, supposing that these tiny cruelties were what made Malfoy who he was; also, Fred imagined Malfoy would want their full and undivided attention: an impossible feat once Portia took the stage. 

"Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Malfoy?" the waiter asked.

"No thank you, Xavier."

The waiter nodded once and then disappeared the way Portia had.

"Whatever would Hermione think of that little display of...uh...affection?" Fred couldn't help but ask. 

Malfoy's smile didn't waver. "We're hardly exclusive," he answered. "I am married, after all, a fact Miss Granger is well aware of." 

"I'm surprised you haven't lost your wedding ring by this point," George said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Malfoy looked at him quizzically. "I'm not left-handed," he answered, bringing his right hand under his nose. He extended his second two digits and passed them slowly by, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. 

George looked at him, horrified. 

Malfoy caught his look and smirked once again. "Spare me, Mr. Weasley. As if you wouldn't be doing the exact same thing," he said. "As if you haven't _done_ the exact same thing. Like it or not, what's between Portia's smooth, shapely thighs is something the three of us now have in common." 

Fred fixed Malfoy with a disgusted stare as well.

Malfoy looked at him now. "You too may be as indignant as you wish, Mr. Weasley, but if you're wondering what I meant by frolicking in my backyard, it's exactly this." He held up his two fingers once again, before passing them under his nose once more. 

"So...does this mean we're in bed with you?" George asked. 

"An excellent question, Mr. Weasley, and the answer at this moment is _no_ , but rest assured, you're about to be." 

The twins exchanged another glance before looking back at Malfoy. "Meaning...?" Fred asked.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Well, I shall give you the same recommendation I give to everyone I'm about to take to my bed: if you relax and let it happen, it will feel so much better. Second, understand that I can do a great deal for you as well and you may come from the experience pleasantly surprised." He uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "But first..." he took his own drink from the table and held it up in front of them. The twins did the same. They clinked glasses and then drank. Fred did a double take at the glass after he had taken the first sip; he couldn't identify the liquor, but it was smooth, rich, with notes of maple and cloves, complex from start to finish. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been cheap. Intrigued, Fred took another sip, savoring the beginning, middle, and end of flavors and aromatic compounds making sweet love to his tongue and palate. 

"Also, before we get started, I need to make certain things about Miss Granger absolutely clear," Malfoy said, leaning towards the twins, ice now in his gray eyes. "First, as Miss Granger mentioned, it's no affair of yours; thus, I'm simply informing you for her sake, not for mine, and certainly not for yours. Second, know that it is unequivocally consensual. Third, and this is the most important: Hermione's life is forfeit if she speaks of our affair; she has willingly swore an Unbreakable Vow to me never to mention it to anyone and therefore you are not, under any circumstances, to mention it to anyone either."

Fred felt his mouth drop open; that was the last thing he was expecting. He had thought maybe what had happened between her and Malfoy had been a one-time thing, but with the way Malfoy was speaking of it now, it sounded far more serious. The other strange thing was the fiercely protective tone Malfoy took when speaking of Hermione. Fred felt a grudging respect for Malfoy at this. Obviously, he wasn't just using Hermione, was it possible that he actually liked her? 

Fred took another sip of his remarkable beverage. He glanced behind him, seeing now that Portia and Xavier now held the stage in a stylized _pas-de-deux,_ steamy, intense; if sex was a dance, this would be it. Fred couldn't help but watch for a moment, before regretfully wrenching his eyes away and turning back to Malfoy.

Malfoy smiled at him patiently. "Anyway," he said, "I merely wish to offer you my help."

Fred and George looked at each other. "What sort of help?" George asked suspiciously. 

Malfoy raised both eyebrows, looking surprised, "Why, the generous sort of course, Mr. Weasley." Malfoy reached into his pocket and brought forth the same item that he had showed them the night of the 7th Year Ball: it was a vial of poison that Fred and George themselves had created. What Fred and George had discovered months before the 7th Year Ball had ever happened was that in breaking off the sickness-inducing portion of each of the components of the Skiving Snackboxes, and then reconstituting and concentrating their contents, they could create a variety of extremely effective poisons. They were now selling vials of them out the backdoor of the joke shop on the Knockturn Alley side, mostly to Dark Wizards, who paid a premium for them, as they were dissolvable in a variety of fluids, and were completely untraceable. They were now in the process of developing the other half of the components into antidotes, which they were planning on selling to St. Mungo's. 

It was as despicable as it was lucrative and Fred felt guilty every time he sold a vial, knowing that it might go to kill someone, but he and George could move seven drams for 100 Galleons, money that was just too good to pass up. Sometimes, when Fred was lying on his back in bed, trying to sleep at night, he wondered if that made him and George Dark Wizards as well, but then he remembered just how remarkable he had felt when he was six inches deep into Portia, and that it was the very sale of the poison that had allowed that to happen, and that softened the sting of his conscience considerably. He would then engage in some self-abuse with that pleasant memory to guide him and his hand and, sated, would fall asleep with a smile on his face.

Malfoy was now looking at the incriminating vial, a smile playing on his features. "Fainting Fancies, I'm sure this once was," he said. "Concentrated, refined, distilled down to a poison that drops a person's blood pressure so far that they can go into cardiac arrest. I imagine the refined version of Nosebleed Nougat makes the victim hemorrhage out of every orifice." He now looked at the twins, who returned his amused look with their own glum ones. "I shudder to think what the refined version of Puking Pastilles does." He looked from Fred to George. "Don't look so upset, gentlemen, it's quite enterprising of you and I count myself impressed by your level not just of ingenuity, but of potion-brewing skill as well. Severus Snape must have made quite an impression on you."

"Yeah, well..." Fred said, trailing off, resentfully flattered by Malfoy's statement. He cleared his throat. "What's it got to do with you, anyway?" he finally said.

"As it happens, being a known Dark Wizard, I happen to know a lot of other Dark Wizards as well...Death Eaters and the like, in whom you could certainly find a market for such dastardly substances. I could probably triple what you're currently taking in, simply by dropping the occasional word in the right ear. Moreover, I would certainly be able to invest some of my not-inconsiderable assets into your research and development."

George looked at Malfoy shrewdly. "How much are we talking?" he asked. He took a sip of his drink.

"10,000 Galleons to start," Malfoy said casually, sipping his own drink, "and then 5,000 more for each new one you come up with." 

George practically choked on his own drink. Fred patted him on the back as he coughed, his eyes watering. "What would we have to do in exchange?" Fred asked. 

Malfoy's eyes glinted, "I shall, of course, need to know to whom every vial of poison is going. I understand that you've been dealing clandestinely thus far, and for good reason, but that will have to come to an end at once. In fact, this must be retroactive. Not only will I need to know to whom these vials are going, but to whom they've already gone."

Fred frowned. "But we've assured our clients absolute secrecy."

Malfoy leaned back on the couch, sighing in apparent regret. "You gentlemen disappoint me," he said, shaking his head. "Bear in mind, I never assured _your_ secrecy when I showed you that vial the night of the Ball, quite the contrary as a matter of fact."

"Just as we didn't assure the secrecy of your sticking your cock in Hermione Granger," Fred responded with some heat.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "My goodness, what a vulgar way to put what it is I'm going," he said. "I thought you were raised better..." he smirked. "Oh, what am I saying? Of course I didn't..." He drank again before spreading his hands. "The point, gentleman, is that you have so much more to lose than to gain from not cooperating with me. Setting aside the very generous offer I just made to you that you are foolishly choosing to ignore, bear in mind that if I accidentally let slip what I know about your business, you shall be in an inordinate amount of trouble. I refer of course to the sort of trouble that leads to an inconvenient Azkaban sentence, certainly not something you would want, especially now that business is going so superbly for you. Conversely, if you let slip what you know about myself and Miss Granger, not only will you destroy her reputation and mine as well, but as I've previously mentioned, you'll also threaten her life." He sat back on the couch once more. "And they say _I_ have a heart of ice..."

 _Goddamnit to hell,_ Fred thought, _the smug bastard's right._ As fed up as Fred had felt with Hermione, neither he nor George would ever dream of doing anything to threaten Hermione's life, which is exactly what would happen if he or George were to spill what they knew. Also, 10,000 Galleons was way too much money simply to ignore: not only did they seemingly have no choice, saying no was stupid for that reason alone.

"Oh," Malfoy said, as if just remembering something, "I also would have a thirty percent stake in whatever you take in."

"Twenty percent," George said, glancing at Fred. Fred nodded; as usual, they were operating on the same frequency. 

Malfoy smiled in triumph, knowing he had them. "Twenty-five," he said. 

George and Fred looked at each other a final time. "Done and done," they said. 

"Excellent," Malfoy said, standing. "There is one more little snag I need to address before we finish. This should go without saying, but I want to make it absolutely clear: your fraternal retribution regarding your sister and my son as of now is null and void."

The twins stood as well. Fred felt his jaw clench. He shouldn't have been surprised, but it still rankled. It would mean being at least civil to Draco, should their paths ever cross again, as well as keeping Ron at bay if it was needed, which could actually be more difficult. With any luck, the situation would never come up. Malfoy put his hand out to shake. Fred hesitated for just a moment, partially because of what Malfoy had been doing with that hand just minutes before, a realization Malfoy surely must have had. Fred clasped his hand anyway and shook it before Malfoy dropped it and shook George's hand as well. Fred felt fear slide into his belly; they were well and truly in Malfoy's bed as of now; all Fred could do is hope that he didn't screw them too badly. _Well, if Hermione's any gauge, it can't be all bad,_ Fred thought and brightened slightly, even though, again, it was an unnerving thought.

"And to seal our deal; I'd like to make a gesture of my good faith..." Malfoy said, looking past the Weasleys. Fred and George turned and there Portia stood at the top of the stairs, skin glowing from her recent exertions on the stage. 

"Oh, no, we couldn't--Ow!" George said as Fred kicked him in the shin.

Malfoy looked at George coldly. "Surely you can't mean to insult my best dancer immediately after entering into an accord with me," he said. He now looked at Fred and smiled. "I even primed her for you..." Fred suppressed a shudder. Malfoy had a spectacular talent for putting people off with his complete lack of scruples combined with a certain cunning fearlessness that made his proclivities not even seem particularly out of place. 

Fred returned his smile without letting it reach his eyes. "You are too kind," he said. 

"Yes," Malfoy answered, his eyes now back on George. "Yes, I am." 

Fred sighed lightly. He loved his brother more than any other living person, but sometimes he was an idiot. Fred nodded to Malfoy and then turned to Portia. He took her gently by the arm and led her back down the stairs. The music came back to him as soon as they crossed the threshold, somewhat jarringly as Fred had forgottten the Malfoy had cast a muting spell. When they got to the bottom of the stairs and out of sight of both Malfoy and his second half-troll bouncer, he released her arm. "Look, Portia," he said, pitching his voice down so as not to be overheard. "I'm going to ask you a question, and please answer me honestly."

"Yes?" she asked. She had a low, husky voice and that one word sent a thrill through Fred.

Fred licked his lips. "Do you actually want to do this tonight?"

Portia looked away. "No, not really," she said, before looking back at Fred, as if shocked at her own bluntness. "But I'm all right with it, if that's what you really want to know."

Fred knew his cock would never forgive him for what he was about to do. Fred glanced at his brother, who was reading his mind, as usual. George gave him a nod of assent. "All right. Then here's what we're going to do. Lead us to the room, and then..." Fred smiled his sexiest smile before opening his jacket and looking in both directions with great showmanship, pulling his Exploding Snap game out of his pocket just enough so she could see it.

Portia's mouth made a perfect _O_ of surprise and pleasure and her gorgeous blue eyes sparkled. She smiled slowly, making Fred melt. She then beckoned both of them with her finger to follow her. As they did, Fred let out a sigh of relief. Had anyone witnessed that little exchange, they would think that they were being led off for what Patrona was most famous for. With each step that Fred's feet made over the enchanted mosaic floor, his heart felt lighter, and he counted his self-restraint as a tiny victory. Malfoy might have them where he wanted them, but that didn't mean that they had to capitulate to all of his manipulations. Also, there was a certain satisfaction in not having sex with Portia: with whatever it was that Malfoy had paid her, they were practically stealing from him. The music continued over them as Portia unlocked the Vine Room and led them in before closing the door on their own secret, and yet completely innocent, tryst. 

CHAPTER 34: EXAMINATION

Hermione and the majority of the rest of the 7th year students spent the two days following the Ball cramming for their NEWTs, at least those who had achieved sufficient OWLs and class marks or rankings to do so. The ones who were not so fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on who one asked), had gone home for a brief holiday before the graduation ceremony. Hermione envied those students, but at the same time, felt a tremendous amount of gratitude to make it far enough to sit for eight NEWT exams. 

At least, that was what she told herself as she pored over endless books, charts, and practiced spells, jinxes, counter-jinxes, charms and mixed hundreds of potions in her mind. Her eight NEWTs were to be Ancient Runes, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, and History of Magic. Each one was to be proctored by between one and three Ministry officials, depending on what the practicum involved. 

Ancient Runes was first, Monday morning, which involved an extensive written exam and a very difficult practicum. Students were to make a Pensieve on the fly, given a Madeleine's Magic Marker, a silver platter, and magically purified spring water. In her practicum, Hermione took the marker and made the North, South, East, and West runes first; those were easy. The rest had not only to be right, but to be set down in the correct order, using the right spells. Lastly, Hermione had to extract a memory for the proctor to review. After Hermione wrote the last runic symbol, she carefully poured in the water and said the three final incants. The water churned and swirled with silver mist and Hermione's heart leapt. She placed her wand to her temple and extracted a memory of riding a tricycle around her parents' driveway as a child. 

The proctor, a middle-age witch from the Department of Mysteries bent over Hermione's makeshift Pensieve and, after a moment or two, came up. "Excellent work," she said, after delicately blotting her face with one of the fuzzy purple towels provided for that reason. Hermione left, beaming.

Transfiguration was to be that afternoon. Hermione made her way hurriedly out of the classroom where the Ancient Runes practicum had been held and meandered back to the Great Hall for lunch. She walked, head down, thinking about her Transfiguration NEWT. She was alone, as everyone else was currently in their own NEWT, or absent from campus. Suddenly, her books flew out of her hands, as she had just run into someone. Angrily, she stooped to pick them up. "Why don't you watch where you're--" she started, and then noticed a piece of folded parchment in front of her, next to a pair of expensive, black, highly-shined shoes. She grabbed the parchment quickly and then looked up. 

"Perhaps you should watch where _you're_ going," Lucius said, staring icily down at her. 

Hermione gathered the rest of her books in haste and then stood, her heart hammering. She looked down, chastened. "Sorry, sir," she said. She risked a quick glance up to Lucius' face, where she saw a flicker of amusement before contempt returned to his features once again. He sighed in exasperation and stepped around her, not sparing her another glance. 

Hermione pocketed the parchment and rushed to the girl's bathroom outside of the Great Hall. This was beginning to feel familiar. She unfolded the parchment and got out her wand. " _Aparecium,_ " she whispered. Words formed on the paper, once again wasting no time in Lucius' meaning: _D.A.D.A. Wear nothing under your robes. I want you ready when the time comes. -L_ Hermione felt the also-familiar heat creep between her legs. She swallowed. Defense Against the Dark Arts was scheduled for the following day and it was her weakest subject, and subsequently the exam she was most nervous about. With its perfect poetic justice, of course that would be the one Lucius would choose. He would find it hilarious, actually. 

Hermione sighed. There was no time to dwell on it now. She had to eat, and then face Transfiguration that afternoon and Charms in the morning before Defense Against the Dark Arts the following afternoon. She managed to do well in Transfiguration, despite it being once again, an extremely challenging practicum involving turning a file cabinet into an elk. She managed the elk, its rack magnificent with at least fourteen points, but strangely, it was an albino. Hermione hoped it wouldn't be counted against her, and shuddered to think what Professor Trelawney would have made of it.

Hermione took a shower that night in the prefects' bathroom, worrying about what the next day would bring amidst the noises around her. Like the Room of Requirement, the prefects' bathroom was another place famously used for hook-ups. The chief reason was because the bathroom was technically unisex, the only one at Hogwarts. Yes, there were separate wings for the boys and for the girls, but the signs were often ignored completely. The showers on both sides had frosted stall doors, but that just made it far easier to misbehave, not that Hermione personally ever had. _I'll bet Lucius did when he went here,_ Hermione thought with a grin, another spectacular perk of being him; it was a delectable reason to insert oneself into that particular position of power. There was also an unspoken code that what happened (consensually) in the prefect's bathroom stayed in the prefect's bathroom: prefect or not, anyone who violated it found themselves magically and socially barred from the bathroom for life. 

Tonight was the most active night Hermione had ever seen; because of NEWTs, the prefects would be particularly in need of relief, and they could and would invite whomever to join them. Unable to help herself, Hermione cracked the door of her own shower to glance around, doing a double take at the one across from her that held not two, but three vague, moaning, writhing bodies. She squinted through the rising steam. She could only guess that the male was the one with his rear to the door and the two females were the ones who knelt in front of him, servicing him and from the looks of it, each other as well, as their hands were busy in each other's laps. In the stall to their right was a male brazenly masturbating while singing the Weird Sisters' _Dance Like a Hippogriff_ at the top of his voice; it may have even been Ernie MacMillan, the Head Boy himself; it sure sounded like it to Hermione On his other side was a male and a female: she was bent over in front of him as he plowed her from behind. As prefects, with the only ones to stop them being themselves, they went on and on, stall after stall. 

Hermione shook her head in disbelief and closed the door. She seemed to be the only one in the entire bathroom not engaged in some sort of sex act. However, little did her classmates know that she was carefully preparing for one. Refocusing, she shaved both under her arms and her legs. As she did the latter, she hesitated when she got to the top of her second thigh. She looked down and for a moment thought of an incident that had happened a few months ago, a conversation overheard between Lavender and Parvati in the Gryffindor bathroom. 

"You shave _down there_?" Parvati had asked Lavender incredulously. They spoke from the sink, and of course had no idea that Hermione was in one of the stalls. 

"Yeah, of course."

"OK, but why, Lav?" 

When Lavender spoke, her tone was gleefully naughty: "it makes certain things far easier...for everyone involved." 

With that, Hermione had left the stall, washed her hands while the other girls looked at her, as if daring her, the Head Girl, the prude, to say something. Hermione had said nothing, of course, just dried her hands and left, hearing them explode in giggles as soon as she was out the door. She remembered rolling her eyes at their inane hijinks, but now...she looked from between her legs to the dripping razor in her right hand. She smiled as she thought of the look on Lucius' face were she to surprise him with some new landscaping at their next encounter. Her mind made up, and with the chorus of ecstasy around her for encouragement, Hermione shaved all of her intimate places with extreme care, as she had never done it before and it was far more of a challenge than shaving anywhere else. When she finished, she toweled off carefully, stunned at the new sensitivity between her legs. It would make for an interesting change.

After, Hermione fell into a fitful, but blessedly dreamless sleep that night. She ate breakfast automatically, not really tasting what she was eating and headed for the Charms NEWT. The practicum was a choice between casting a Patronus charm (arguably a Defense Against the Dark Arts spell, but Hermione was not going to complain) or casting a Portus charm. Hermione could have done the Patronus with ease, but opted for the more difficult Portus charm, and once again, succeeded. So far, her NEWTs were going well, and each success bolstered her confidence for the next.

Before Defense Against the Dark Arts, she hurried back to her room and, per her instructions, peeled off her underwear and took off her bra as well. She quickly took another Anti-Fertility potion. She looked at the empty bottle and shook her head, in disbelief that this was her preparation for her Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT, and that she would have to sit it in such a vulnerable state. The situation was dripping with irony, but there was no time to dwell on it now. 

Hermione walked quickly to the classroom where the exam was being held, suddenly very aware of her own body. Her shirt brushed her bare nipples with her movements, and she was uncomfortably, yet sensuously aware of every passing breeze under her skirt on her newly-shaved flesh. When she got to the classroom, she chose a seat near the front. Harry and Ron sat next to her. Ron looked unusually relaxed and just sort of half-waved at her. Harry looked confident, but of course he would. This was definitely his best subject, as everyone knew. Hermione sighed. "Good luck," she said to him. 

"Thanks, to you as well," Harry said, smiling, "I'm sure you'll nail it." 

Hermione looked away quickly, her face on fire at Harry's unintentional joke. The proctor, an Auror named Williamson handed out exams. "Following your written test, you will have to undergo a practicum followed by a three-question oral exam. Your proctors for these exams have been assigned to you randomly, and you'll find their names at the bottom right-hand side of Page 9 of your answer sheet once you have filled in all of your answers, as well as which classrooms they are in. Bring Page 9 to both of these exams with you." He finished handing out the written test. "You have one hour for your written exam. You may start now."

Hermione picked up her quill and started her exam. _1.) Compare and contrast the Confundus Charm and the Imperius Curse._ Hermione wrote her answer, thinking somewhat guiltily back to the day she used the Confundus Charm on Cormac McLaggen. Impatient, she shook her head at the thought; she did not currently have the leisure to dwell on him in any capacity. _2.) Should Love Potions be considered Dark Arts? Why or why not? Use detailed examples._ Hermione smiled grimly, already confident in her answer, but shrinking from using examples that were too detailed. Many of the questions were more prosaic and concrete, such as describing certain jinxes and their effects. These were easier questions, but not nearly so interesting.

Before she knew it, she had written the answer to the last question. She flipped to Page 9 and looked in the bottom right-hand side. _Practicum: Dawlish, Classroom 19, 2nd floor; Oral: Malfoy, Meeting Room 7, 2nd floor._ She rolled her eyes. _Yes, very random indeed,_ she thought. She turned her exam in to Auror Williams, and then headed down to her practicum. It wasn't as bad as she had thought it would be, a test of her shield charm, as well as how well she could cast Expelliarmus, and some other stuff that Harry had taught in D.A. two years before. 

Having finished her practicum satisfactorily, Hermione proceeded to Meeting Room 7, clutching Page 9 to her chest. The sign outside the door could be flipped to say _Available_ or _Occupied._ It currently said _Available,_ so she steeled herself and knocked twice. "Enter," she heard. She took a deep breath and entered the room. Lucius sat at the end of the long table that contained a few sheets of parchment, a few quills, and a pitcher of water with some glasses. The room was in the interior of the castle, with no windows. "Turn the sign over and come in, Miss Granger," he ordered.

She flipped the sign to _Occupied_ and closed the door. She turned back to Lucius. He took out his wand and waved it lazily. Hermione heard the door lock behind her. She approached him slowly, without any clear idea of what to expect. She handed him Page 9, now somewhat the worse for wear and he took it from her. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him. She pulled it out, and sat, facing him, knees pressed together. Lucius perused the paper she had given him. The silence stretched between them.

"Um," Hermione finally said, "How is this not a massive conflict of interest?" 

Lucius looked down his nose at her. "Are you impugning my integrity as a Board Member?" he asked. 

"Absolutely," she answered without hesitation. "Is that the first question of the oral exam?"

"No, it is not," he said. "And you _will_ lose marks for insolence. However, because you've shown your true colors...did you follow my instructions?" 

"Now, what did they say, again?" Hermione, putting one finger on her chin and staring at the ceiling.

Lucius glared at her. "I'd urge you not to toy with me."

"Yes, I followed your instructions to the letter." She injected a note of indignant protest into her voice.

"Thanks to that smart mouth of yours, I don't believe you," Lucius replied coldly. "You'll have to show me, or I'll have no choice but to fail you. You wouldn't want that, would you?" His mouth curved up in a cruel smile.

Hermione didn't move. In no way was she going to make this easy for him. "Are you impugning my integrity as a Hogwarts student?" she asked. 

"I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Granger," he said soothingly. 

"Well then, you may just have to take my word for it," she said. "It is, however, warm in here so, not to seem as if I'm lacking propriety, I am going to discard a few layers...if it's all the same to you." 

"I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way, Miss Granger," Lucius said, smiling.

Maintaining eye contact, she took off her robes and her Gryffindor tie, leaving just her skirt and button-down shirt. When she was finished, she sat back down in her chair and pressed her knees together once again. 

"Better?" Lucius asked.

Hermione smiled. "Much. I appreciate your forbearance." 

"Well then, let us proceed with the oral exam," Lucius answered. "Part the first will be a series of questions that I will ask and you will answer and part the second will be an oral exam of an entirely different nature." 

Hermione shook her head but said nothing as she felt her face color as the implications of what he told her sunk in. "What's the first question, then?"

Lucius picked up a piece of parchment in front of him and read, or pretended to read, "What would happen if one were to mix Prima Nocta together with silver dragon blood?" He looked up at her, amusement in his eyes.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Really?" she asked. "That's your question?"

"It's obscure knowledge, Miss Granger, appropriate for NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I'll thank you not to question the Ministry's methods."

Hermione sighed. "Very well," she said, "I'll play your game. Prima Nocta mixed with silver dragon blood creates a powerful love, excuse me, _lust_ potion that works on contact with skin, contrasted with plain Prima Nocta, which needs to be ingested for any meaningful effect. Used properly, this compound potion creates a tactile poison that leaves the victim drained of will and in the thrall of the person who shares the Prima Nocta. Exceptions exist when the victim has a remarkably strong will." She let the corner of her mouth curl up at the last.

"Indeed," Lucius said. "Next question: what does a Final Knife do?"

"A Final Knife, when plied to human skin, creates wounds that may not be healed with either magical or Muggle healing techniques. However, a Hospitality Rite, when properly and _sincerely_ performed, can counteract these effects." She smiled. 

"Last question," Lucius said. He looked at her, triumph already present in his gray eyes. "How is the Final Knife created?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again. "I don't know," she said simply. 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You don't know? I'll remind you, Miss Granger, your final Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT grade rests on your ability to answer this question correctly." 

Hermione stood, struck with sudden inspiration. "May I have some water please?" she said.

Lucius gestured to the pitcher. "If you think that will help," he replied, smirking. 

Hermione walked to the other end of the table, poured herself a glass of water all the way to the top so it nearly spilled over, took a sip, and walked back down towards him. She leaned her rear end on the table, just in front of where Lucius was sitting. Maintaining his curious gaze, she took another sip and then deliberately poured the rest down the front of her shirt, not even pretending that it was an accident. She gasped as the cold hit her. 

"Oh dear," she said, "I can't believe I just did that." 

Lucius said nothing, but rewarded her with an exasperated look, but it lasted only a second before his eyes moved downward and his look changed to one of interest.

Hermione's white shirt, now soaked, was plastered to her bare chest. The freezing water did what Hermione wanted it to do, making her nipples instantly erect and pressing them out through the wet cotton. "Well, this will never dry," she said, brushing ineffectually at it, but actually rubbing her own flesh through her shirt. She cupped her own breasts and fondled their sensitive pink points with her thumbs, pinching and caressing them as she felt warmth kindle between her legs. Breathing quickly, she looked at Lucius, who had exactly the reaction that she had hoped, now looking at her with unalloyed lust. 

"I guess the shirt will simply have to come off," Hermione sighed, starting to unbutton it. She went as slowly as she possibly could, all the while looking at Lucius, daring him to make a move. Hermione felt the warmth grow between her thighs as she watched his self-control erode. She marveled at just how quickly and easily she could take his power away, even with the oldest, cheapest, most obvious trick in the book. It was an exhilarating feeling. She undid the second button and paused to kick off her shoes, but left her gray over-the-knee knit socks. Hermione then sat on the table, putting her skirt behind her so her bare skin was on surface of the now-damp wood. She slowly undid the third button, keeping her shirt carefully closed. "Buttons are such a bother," she muttered, looking down. 

Hermione let her legs drift apart as she pretended to struggle. "Did I get any down there?" she asked, looking down. She lifted the right side of her skirt up, exposing up to the juncture where her thigh met her groin, as she leaned back on one hand ever so slightly, enough to tease only; she didn't want to give away her surprise prematurely. Hermione spread her legs and ran her hand slowly up her thigh, stopping just shy of her sex under her skirt. She looked back at Lucius' face, gratified to see him wiping his upper lip with one hand, completely under her thumb. Hermione sighed in exasperation. "I really can't see down there all that well. It _feels_ wet down there, but if you could just look and make sure, that would be a huge help."

Lucius stood slowly and made his way over to her. She had gotten all her buttons undone now. He ran his hands up the outside of her legs and to her waist, where he pulled her shirt out of her skirt. He then moved his hands up her ribcage and to her shoulders, peeling the soaked fabric off of her. Hermione helped him take the shirt off completely. Lucius looked down at her exposed flesh. Water dripped down between her breasts and onto her abdomen, making little trails on her skin as it moved south with gravity. 

"I'm ready for part two of my oral exam, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione whispered.

"Oh, you think so, do you?" he countered.

Hermione smiled and nodded. 

"Very well, then, Miss Granger." He leaned over and kissed her neck, lightly at first, and then harder, moving from below her ear to her collarbone. He stopped for a moment. "You're not cold, are you?" he asked.

"A little, yes, why?"

Lucius smiled back. He took a deep breath and blew on her skin, making gooseflesh rise up and making her nipples harder. Hermione shivered. Lucius took another breath and did it again, making her even colder. Before she could recover, he closed his mouth over her nipple, the contrast of the warmth of his mouth against her freezing skin making her gasp. He moved his hand up her ribcage slowly and to the outside of her other breast. He moved his thumb over her nipple, firm, yet gentle. She moaned as he moved his tongue against one nipple and his fingers over the other. 

Hermione moved her hand up her thigh towards her sex. Before she got there, Lucius moved his hand off of her breast quickly and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "I won't hear of you cheating on _this_ exam, Miss Granger," he admonished her. Hermione sighed and moved her hand back to the table. Lucius blew on the other side of her chest and repeated the same that he had done before on the other side. Hermione now breathed faster, feeling the heat rising between her thighs. 

After a moment, Lucius stopped and stood. Hermione quickly slid out of her skirt. She leaned back on her elbows on the table and spread her legs slowly for him. Lucius immediately noticed her new grooming choice. A slow smile spread across his face. "I can see clearly why you're the Head Girl," he said, his eyes fixed on her now-bare pussy. "You obviously studied hard for this exam." He pulled up a chair and sat down between her parted legs. He trailed the backs of his fingers lightly over her inner thighs. "Now, Miss Granger, I feel obliged to ask you, have you ever had an oral exam of this nature?" He ran his thumbs ever-so-lightly down her smooth labia, applying pressure to her clit from each side without touching it directly. He then moved his thumbs back up and drew them down, once again stroking her clit from the outside. He repeated this a few more times, until it was all Hermione could do not to put her own fingers down there and rub herself until she got off. He had a gift for making it exceptionally difficult for her to be patient. 

"No," Hermione said, the word coming out in a shaky whisper. 

"In that case, I will give you instructions. Lie back all the way. Now if you would be so kind as to use your fingers to show me what I am to be examining..." Hermione lay back as she was told and moved her hands down her body and between her legs. She parted her labia for him, just barely resisting the urge to probe her aching clit with her fingers. "That's perfect," Lucius said. He leaned down and kissed the parts she had just exposed, darting his tongue out quickly over her clit. He then ran his finger down it and unhurriedly pushed it back and forth. Hermione pulled her breath in over her teeth. "I like your new look," Lucius said, his voice low. He ran his finger down farther, along her wet crevice, but without actually penetrating her. "Why hide such a magnificent pussy?" Then his finger was moving back up again, to massage her clit, making small, languid circles. "So wet...so eager to be touched...to be tasted..."

He kissed her again, harder, this time opening his mouth so his lips and tongue could caress her clitoris at leisure. Hermione didn't know precisely what he was doing down there, but whatever it was, it felt like nothing she had ever experienced. Hermione felt her breathing increase as Lucius sucked her clit, encircling it with his tongue. He slid his fingers up, stroking lightly just on the outside of her pussy, teasing her back, once again not entering her. He was just wetting the very tips of his fingers on her as his mouth drew her pleasure out bit by bit. Now he dipped one finger into her, just up to the first knuckle. As he did, Hermione felt her rear end tighten, willing him to go in more. "Please go deeper," she said, her words coming out in a moan. 

Lucius actually stopped. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said, feigning confusion. "Deeper where?" Once again, he darted his tongue quickly across her now fully sensitized clit. 

Hermione felt all the blood rush to her face. In his typical fashion, Lucius was making her take accountability for her pleasure by having her ask. "Deeper into my--" She cut off, unable to go further.

Lucius had not taken his finger out of her, but also had not done what she wanted. He took her clit in his mouth again, tonguing it back and forth as he sucked on her. He stopped once again, waiting for her. "This _is_ an oral exam, Miss Granger," he said, "If you can't articulate very clearly what you mean, once more I'll have no choice by to fail you." Lucius moved his finger against her, again not going any deeper, just stroking up and down her now well-lubricated opening. "This is your last chance." He lowered his mouth down onto her once again.

"Deeper into my--pussy," Hermione finally whispered, her face on fire. "P-please finger me some more, Lucius."

"That's better," Lucius whispered back before rewarding her, easing his finger fully into her and then pulling it back again. "Such filthy requests from such a good girl," he murmured. Lucius moved his finger in and out of her as he licked and sucked at her clit, now starting to speed up as Hermione moaned. She felt her thigh muscles tightening, her lower back arching, her rear clenching and her breathing become nothing more than rapid panting as Lucius masterfully brought her closer to orgasm. He didn't stop this time, luckily for Hermione, but let her ride it out in its natural progression into ecstasy. Hermione put her own hand into her mouth and bit down on the back to try and keep the volume down. When her climax finally abated, she lay back. "Did I pass?" she asked. 

"Oh, I think so, Miss Granger." 

"Then, I'd like you inside of me right now," she said without hesitation. 

Lucius stood and once more feigned confusion. "I have been inside of you for the last few minutes," he said.

"I meant with your..." Why was it so difficult? 

Lucius raised an eyebrow, waiting. "My what?" 

"Your cock." Once again it came out as a whisper. 

Lucius smiled, comprehension dawning. "Ah...you want me to _fuck_ you, I see. Is that what you're trying to tell me?" His smooth voice landed hard on the dirty word, making Hermione's pussy contract unexpectedly.

"Yes, please," she said. 

"Yes, please, what?" Merlin, he was relentless. 

"F-fuck me with your cock, please." It was almost impossible for her to utter the forbidden words, words she had been taught her entire life it was appalling rude to say out loud, but that was part of the turn-on, that she was breaking these rules of conduct, of normal society, she, Hermione Granger. Thus, she couldn't help but tack on a _please_ to the end, as absurd and incongruous as it no doubt seemed. 

"In a moment, Miss Impatient." Lucius glanced around. Ice cubes were melting on the table next to her. His eyes lit on one of them and he stood and picked it up. With the other hand, he undid his trousers. He came back over to her. He ran the ice cube up the inside of her thigh and she gasped. He stopped just short of her sex, all while releasing his erect cock from his trousers and giving it a few, anticipatory strokes with his other hand. 

"You're not going to...?" Hermione asked. Without answering her, Lucius pushed the ice cube into her. She gasped as it hit her most sensitive area, made even more so for just having climaxed. 

Lucius kept it in her for only a few seconds, before slipping it out. Before she could say anything, he slowly put his cock into where the ice cube had been just seconds before. Like it had been with her nipples, the sudden contrast of warm on icy cold made them both moan. He pulled back and pushed in again, harder. With one hand, he held onto her hip; the other still held the ice cube. He drew it down her neck and over her chest, around her nipples in a slow figure eight, not touching them, just coming close, all while moving in and out of her. 

Hermione felt pressure building between her thighs as Lucius sped up. The ice cube melted finally, leaving just his hand touching her, over her neck and her chest. Lucius added in his other hand, massaging her breasts and caressing her nipples with his thumbs as he thrust his cock into her. Hermione's back arched as she came again, once again stuffing her knuckles into her mouth. Even though she had just had an orgasm mere minutes before, she had forgotten how unbelievable it felt. Every single time she did, its intensity and the rapture it caused surprised her. It was nerve-wracking to attempt to stay quiet in a relatively public place, but at the same time, it heightened the excitement, knowing that they could get caught if anyone decided simply to _Alohamora_ the door. 

Lucius moved his hands down to her hips, pushing hard and fast into her. After a few moments, he lifted her knees with both hands and pushed her legs up, going into her even deeper, before coming himself with a groan of pleasure. He stayed inside of her for a moment or two, catching his breath. 

"You know, you should probably start running," Hermione couldn't help but say. 

Lucius smiled before gently releasing her legs and pulling out of her. "I'm in fine shape, but thank you for your heartfelt concern. However, next time you're at my house, I'm going to push you out the door and release the hounds. That'll make a runner out of you." He buttoned up his trousers and ran his hands through his hair, now slightly disheveled, returning it to its usually sleek state. 

"Except that your dogs like me more than you, so I doubt that would work." If only Lucius knew how close he was to the truth were he simply to substitute the word _manticore_ for dog. One day Hermione would likely tell him what happened, but for now, she preferred to keep that information until leveraging it would prove beneficial to her.

Lucius inclined his head. "I can concede that, Miss Granger. They are terrible guard dogs, completely unable to sense a threat."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "I'm a threat then?" She asked.

Lucius sighed, his eyes drifting down between her thighs once more. "That remains to be seen," he answered, dressing himself once more. 

Hermione sat up on her elbows once again and closed her legs. Lucius took out his wand and cast a warm-air charm on her shirt before handing it back to her. He then took her hand and helped her sit up. Hermione slipped back into her shirt and buttoned it once again, and then put her skirt back on. 

Lucius pulled the chair away from the table and sat back down. Hermione sat in her original chair as well, opposite him. "So, what of the exam?" she asked.

"I already told you that you passed, Miss Granger, most satisfactorily," Lucius replied. "I can only hope it wasn't too taxing."

"It was, I mean, it _wasn't_...that is..." It seemed to be a theme that day that Hermione was having a difficult time expressing what she wanted to say. "I meant the real exam," she finished lamely.

"There wasn't one," Lucius said. "At least, not for you. You had three extra essay questions on your written portion in lieu of an oral exam. Therefore, no conflict of interest exists. I will have absolutely nothing to do with the final grade of your Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT, so you can relax, Miss Granger and just take today for what it was: an enjoyable diversion for two consenting adults." He sighed. "And really, Hermione, at this point there's no shame in admitting that you enjoy what we do together." 

"Well in that case, it felt incredible," she said, letting a smile make its way across her face. "Do you really not mind doing it though...with your mouth?"

"Do you mind doing it to me...with your mouth?" His voice mocked her gently.

Hermione frowned. "No, I don't mind. Why should I? You enjoy it well enough, which is gratifying in and of itself..."

"Exactly. That part of you tastes..." He sighed again, this time with contentment. "It tastes sublime, and with every minute I do it, you get even more ready to accept my cock, so believe me, heightening your pleasure pays huge dividends and subsequently heightens my desire for you. I particularly enjoy when you ask for what you want, but I do appreciate that you may not yet know what that is. I'll do what I think you're likely to enjoy, but the experience is meant to be reciprocal. Last time, you asked if I would let you pleasure me with your mouth, without me having to ask you. Not that it needs to be an itemized exchange of favors, but that generosity of spirit makes me far more likely to want to do it to you in return." 

"Ultimately, it's about power though," Hermione said, folding her arms.

Lucius smiled. "Noticed that, did we?" he asked. "And which of us has more in this scenario, me or you?"

"You," she answered immediately. 

"You really think so?"

Hermione nodded. "You are stronger, older, more experienced, more ruthless, more cunning, more talented magically--I mean slightly, _just_ slightly--and literally in a position of power above me. More specifically to sex, in the past you have withheld orgasm from me unless I capitulate to something that you want, thus exercising that power quite effectively. You didn't do that today, which I appreciate."

Lucius nodded. "All true," he admitted. "However, I can think of multiple instances where you have exercised your power equally effectively. Do you know where your power lies?"

Hermione shook her head. She had an inkling, but wanted to hear Lucius' perspective.

"It lies in your ability to deny me," he said. 

"Ah, yes, the mysterious hard line you take with consent, a line that you are willing to blur with contact poison, I see. Why not cross it altogether, when you unflinchingly cross so many others?" Hermione asked.

Lucius looked back at her. "If you must know, I never had any intention of having sex with you the day of the Vow, no matter what you did or said. Magical coercion makes consent null and void."

"Then why use magical coercion at all?" she asked. "And why use it on me?"

"To prove a point," Lucius said, enunciating each word. 

Hermione folded her arms. "And what point is that?"

Lucius folded his arms as well, mimicking her posture. "Revenge, of course. I wanted you to feel what I felt the night you promised me anything and then left."

"But surely you must have known I was bluffing," Hermione countered.

"Did I?" Lucius asked, injecting surprise into his voice. "Were you bluffing when you let me touch you? When you removed your shirt when I asked? Care to explain how that was a bluff?"

Hermione looked away from him.

Lucius continued. "You knew you were leading me on, or perhaps I should say, letting me down. Thus, I felt you should know that disappointment, that frustration."

Hermione looked back at him. "But you could have had anything and everything the day of the Vow. Draco told me there's nothing you wouldn't do to get what you wanted, so why not cross that line?"

Lucius looked down, his hair shielding his face so Hermione couldn't see it. "Because it's wrong," he said quietly.

Hermione found herself at a loss for words, discomfitted by this vulnerable side of Lucius, so rarely glimpsed. "My god," she breathed, "what in Merlin's name happened to you?"

He looked up at her, and for a moment she caught a flash of pain in his eyes before they adopted their typical chill. "It doesn't matter at this juncture," he said. She realized that she could have asked him in a gentler way and felt a twinge of remorse.

"I'm sorry," she said, dropping her hands back to her sides. She wanted to know desperately, but he had effectively shut her down.

"Think nothing of it, Miss Granger," he answered coolly, keeping his folded. "As far as you're concerned, it's a mark of pride for me only to touch a witch with her consent; I won't go where I'm not wanted."

Hermione frowned, positive that he was punishing her by only divulging the tip of the iceburg, definitely not the entire story; clearly he didn't think she deserved it.

Lucius took a breath before speaking again, finally dropping his arms as well. "Anyway, you have the power to say no, to delay, to change your mind as you did the night at my house. Thus, I must wait, which as you found out, is a torment in and of itself. Ergo, when it's truly my turn, with your unadulterated willingness and sanction, I press every advantage and regain that power for myself, and the dance continues. Granted, since the Vow, it's largely been a game, but the first time, it was very real."

Hermione thought for a moment about what he had said. "The first time was the only time you could have hurt me, and you did."

"Yes, and although I had the most control in that instance, I still gave you a certain amount of autonomy and as I told you in the beginning, one word would have stopped me immediately. Know also that I never inflict pain without reason."

Hermione glared at him. "That one was your favorite, wasn't it?" she asked bitterly folding her arms once more.

Lucius smiled. "It was singular, and never to be repeated, well worth the price, but having your full-throated, uncompromising support of what I'm doing to your body is far more gratifying than simply exercising my power over you. Now I enjoy the more-subtle power of teasing you mercilessly, but then again, so do you. That bit of theater with the water was ridiculously obvious, and at the same time, inspired. It tipped the power back onto you very quickly, as you may have noticed. It was one of those times that I didn't mind in the slightest ceding power back to you. In that same manner, you wouldn't show me what you were doing to yourself on our second encounter, knowingly tormenting me; thus I delayed letting you come until you begged me."

Hermione shook her head. "That was really cruel," she said.

"And yet, unless I am mistaken, taking you to the edge and then pulling you back intensified the experience for you when it finally did happen, wouldn't you say?" He didn't wait for an answer. "The point is, the balance of power is continually in flux in any sexual relationship. And to be candid, I wouldn't choose otherwise. Any other way leads to complacency and ennui." Hermione wondered if he was talking about his wife when he said that, but knew better than to ask.

She unfolded her arms and leaned towards him, opening her hands. "But you really like power, I mean, more than other people do," she said.

Lucius smiled. "I love it, Miss Granger, yes, more than other people do. That said, have you figured out, in that clever mind of yours, the answer to your question regarding giving me what I want?"

Hermione shook her head a second time, once again possessing an idea, but wanting to hear it expressed in Lucius' own words. 

"Absolute power, or as close as I can get, but at your request and in conjunction with your desire. I enjoy giving you pleasure, as I said; I enjoy the pleasure you bestow on me. However, having you ask me to put my cock in you, having you beg me to let you come, telling _you_ no: in a word, dominating you, punishing you, humiliating you even, and having you revel in it is at the apex of my pleasure. Surely you must have noticed by now that there is always just a little of that in our encounters, and again, I feel compelled to point out that you seemed to have enjoyed them." 

"I like control too," Hermione said.

"Of course you do, and yet don't you find it freeing to completely give it up, to not be the one to make the decisions or shoulder the responsibility? It is for this reason that the Imperius Curse feels pleasurable beyond all reason to the victim. Unforgivable it may be, but painful it most certainly is not."

Hermione frowned as she thought back to the very first night and how relieved she had felt initially to let him take the initiative and how her stress had increased on their second time because she now was expected to take a more active role.

Lucius sat back. "Now, I'm not saying that it has to be that way every time we're together; I enjoy the more pedestrian aspects of sexual congress, but you asked the last time what I would do given free rein; that is my answer: to bend you to my will utterly, to have you agree to my every whim, letting me reward you when you please me and punish you when you fail to do so, all with your unhesitating trust and desire."

Hermione swallowed. "How would that work in light of Vow?" she asked. "Wouldn't you be the one dancing on the knife's edge this time, were you to play it rough?"

"Ironically, it takes an extreme degree of mutual faith and respect to enter consensually into that sort of endeavor with a legitimate partner, particularly between the two of us, and in light of my part of the Vow," Lucius answered. "And admittedly, we're not quite there, although I meant it when I said I wanted you to trust me, and not just for this. I want you to trust that I know what I'm doing and that it is also for your benefit, to help you discover and explore your own pleasure." He tilted his head to the side and looked at her curiously. "That's the main reason I chose to do this with you. Did you know that?"

Hermione shook her head. 

Lucius nodded. "As I mentioned last time, watching and experiencing the wonder with which you discover yourself as a sexual being, and to a lesser extent me, is extremely gratifying. That said, I think you'll find there isn't a lot I won't do to bring about either your pleasure or mine."

Hermione swallowed at this profound revelation and it reminded her of his mention of watching her and Viktor together. It was one advantage of being with someone experienced and who was confident enough in himself to be sexually secure and uninhibited, strange in light of the rigid social constraints of his class, or perhaps stemming directly from that. 

Lucius spoke again. "Do you know what a safe word is?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, no matter, I shall enlighten you. It is a word that you would be unlikely to say as a normal part of conversation that would serve to stop the action immediately. Were we ever to do this, you would need a safe word, because words like _stop, please,_ and _no_ are all part of the game and wouldn't count. You would have to trust me not to go too far and I in turn would have to trust you not to let me, as again, it could end my life." 

"Is it really worth it to you?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

"Oh, yes, Miss Granger," Lucius said softly, "it absolutely is." 

As she so often did with him, Hermione felt ambivalent, horrified at the implications of what he was saying, and yet strangely touched that he had been willing to tell her, to subject himself to her judgment in such a vulnerable way. She relaxed her face into neutrality, determined not to punish him for opening up to her. "My safe word is _Gryffindor,_ " she said. "As you said, we're not there, but when we are, I will ask." 

"And I still may say no, depending on the circumstance, but it's admirable that you take my desires seriously." 

Hermione smiled. "I enjoy what we do together," she said.

Lucius returned her smile. "As do I. There. Was that so difficult?"

"No, it wasn't." Neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally, Hermione said, "So, what now?"

"Well, I truly _am_ working, so you'll have to step out," Lucius said.

"Oh," said Hermione, standing. "Right." She pointed her wand at the oak table, where water dripped steadily on the floor from where she had spilled and where the ice cubes had melted. " _Tergeo,_ " she said. The water cleared. 

"And, like it or not, we're going to have to discuss your living situation once you leave Hogwarts," Lucius said.

Hermione sighed. "We've already agreed that I would do it without your assistance."

"No, I believe _you_ agreed that you'd do it without my assistance, but you see, there's a catch, Miss Granger."

She folded her arms. "And what's that?"

"Per the Vow, you engage with me only under the strictest secrecy. My household staff is nothing if not discrete, but my wife will eventually return to Malfoy Manor, so where do you imagine we'll meet once you leave Hogwarts? Not Diagon Alley, not Hogsmeade, not even Knockturn Alley, so what does that leave us? Young witches and wizards typically rent cheap flats in these areas and by financial necessity, take a flat-mate or six. Clearly, this is not a viable option for you if you wish to continue in your new role."

Hermione looked away. She had been so pre-occupied with the NEWT exams she hadn't thought that far ahead. She was good at logistics to a point, but not where it involved illicit dealings; that was Lucius' specialty. She pondered what he had said for a moment before looking back at him. "What do you suggest?"

"At this moment, I don't have a specific idea, just general stipulations, as I've already mentioned. It depends to a large extent on your own plans. Whatever you choose must be out of the way, and it would be far simpler if you were to live alone, albeit more expensive. However, if you need assistance, it is of no consequence to me. You'll find me above anything as petty as holding it over you. Think of it as an investment that happens to be necessary, Miss Granger, if you must think of it at all." 

As he spoke, Hermione put on the rest of her clothing. "And in the interim?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Lucius answered with a smile.

"You mean something uncomfortable, inconvenient, and relatively risky?"

"Surely not; as much as I hate to bring up the unfortunate incident with the Weasley twins, I'm afraid we can only risk so much."

Hermione bit her lip. "Right, that..." 

"Yes, _that._ We can keep it simple if you wish. If you show up at my house Saturday next, say at 9 o'clock in the evening, you may find me home."

Hermione smiled. "What, that easy? Are you showing me mercy? Be careful there, I might get used to it."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Mercy? Hardly. You broke in once; I'd wager you could pull a repeat performence if you wanted to badly enough." 

Hermione felt the smile slip off her face. She should have known. "You're going to make me break into your house _again?_ "

"It seems you're every bit as clever as they say, Miss Granger."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Why can't you just be the gentlemanly aristocrat the wizarding world knows you to be and, I don't know, have me over normally?"

Lucius smiled. "I'll have you over whatever you choose, Miss Granger, table, desk, hospital bed...as I said, my sole purpose is to give you pleasure, and recieve any form of pleasure you wish to bestow upon me, whatever that may entail. And do you mean the facade of gentlemanly aristocracy I wear like a fine set of dress robes? You've known it was a lie since the first time I touched you. No, Miss Granger, you get the version of me that is far more pure."

Hermione frowned. "I'm still not sure if that's good or bad. As far as breaking into Malfoy Manor again, how about I just do it sloppily, trip the alarm, and have you catch me? Then you'd have to punish me, wouldn't you?" 

Lucius drew his breath in sharply. "A tempting offer, Miss Granger, but no. Whatever you did last time was effective, so you'll simply have to repeat it and likely improve upon it because this time I'll be expecting it, and thus my guard will be up. If I do catch you, you'll have to try again, until you do it correctly, thus disappointing the both of us." 

"You are absolutely no fun," Hermione said, sticking out her lower lip. 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Lucius said. "I haven't yet said what you win if you manage this task successfully."

"Time spent counting the ceiling tiles in Malfoy Manor, perhaps?" 

"A difficult feat whilst blindfolded, wouldn't you say?" 

Hermione felt color rise to her face.

Lucius smiled. "No need to answer the question, Miss Granger. The oral exam is at a close and it was rhetorical anyway." He stood. Hermione stood as well and they walked to the door. 

At the door, Hermione turned and faced him. "Oh, there is one more thing," Lucius said, unlocking the door. 

"Yes?" Hermione asked.

"I might let you convince me to invite you over normally if you do something for me."

"What?" Hemione said shortly. 

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger; it's nothing degrading or painful. Simply tell me how you broke in the first time."

Hermione shook her head. "Absolutely not." She could, but it still wasn't time.

"Your stubbornness is hardly becoming," Lucius chided her.

"And I live purely to draw your gaze," she said, edging her voice with sarcasm. 

Lucius inclined his head. "As well you should. I'll be waiting for you in the small drawing room. Will I be seeing you there at the appointed time?"

"Yes, one way or another," Hermione said, irritated.

"You don't sound very confident." Lucius' smile became malicious.

"I'll be fine," she said, glaring at him.

"Until then, Miss Granger." He opened the door for her. No one was outside the door this time, and it wouldn't matter too much if anyone saw her leave; she had only been in her assigned room for her oral exam, and she had been quiet, or so she had hoped. She shouldered her bag and walked past him out the door, resolved to meet his challenge head-on.


	12. 35: Inspiration; 36: Discovery; 37: Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione comes up with a risky and cunning plan to break into Malfoy Manor once again. In executing her plan, Hermione wins a round ruthlessly and indisputably against Lucius. However, Hermione's vindication is marred by a shocking chance discovery in Malfoy Manor that turns her world upside down and makes her question everything she thinks she knows about Lucius.
> 
>  _Hermione glanced down her line at Lucius, gratified to see him unfold her note and read it under the table, while the rest of the Board members focused on Dumbledore. More generous in her written correspondence than Lucius, Hermione had written,_ Today your well-maintained facade of gentlemanly aristocracy will be rigorously tested; I'm coming for you, so be ready to come for me. I hope you find my part of the ceremony "tolerable". -H.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are some of my favorite chapters in the story. As with the first break in, I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. As always, thank you for reading, commenting, kudos-ing...Makes it all worthwhile!

CHAPTER 35: INSPIRATION

Hermione left the meeting room without looking back and walked back to her own room at the top of Gryffindor tower. It was strange how much of a ghost town Hogwarts had become and how quiet the Common Room was when she walked through it. Her footsteps echoed on the long staircase up to her room. Once inside, Hermione closed the door and, after finally putting on a pair of underwear, she sat on the bed. She had already started packing, as it was a mere two days before graduation. She had left out clothes for the next few days, including her graduation regalia. Per tradition, as Head Girl she was expected to make a few remarks at the ceremony.

Hermione wasn't terribly keen on public speaking, despite her active participation in seven years' worth of Hogwarts courses: knowing the answers in a class and verbalizing them with confidence in that intimate setting was vastly different from speaking in front of her fellow graduating students, all of the Hogwarts professors, the Headmaster, and the Board of Directors--Hermione swore out loud. As if her anxiety wasn't high enough, as a Board member, Lucius would have to attend, even though Draco would not be graduating. 

Lucius loved it most when Hermione felt uncomfortable, and speaking publicly definitely fell into that category; indeed, how he would thrill at witnessing it. On top of that, now she had to break into his house yet again. Hermione sighed. All the spy-versus-spy nonsense was starting to irritate her. No, actually that wasn't it at all: what bothered her most was the fact that she had no idea how she was going to do it. It had been arduous to the point of being life-threatening the last time, and that had been with considerable help from Draco (and as a surprise, his mother as well), a titanic magical energy expenditure on her own part, as well as an unprecedented amount of luck. Hermione squared her shoulders. Well, she would just have to figure something else out; it was as simple as that. 

Hermione started sorting out some of her remaining possessions as she thought about the assigned task ahead of her, shelving her speech for the time being. She started to break down logically what she had garnered from her last experience. As she well knew, the perimeter of the entire Malfoy estate was warded, which she had circumvented last time, but at a very high cost and Hermione wasn't at all sure if she would be able to duplicate the ground-melding spell again. At least avoiding the manticore would be easy this time, she could certainly stay clear of that part of the park entirely and even if she didn't, it would simply be a matter of not touching anything. She already knew she wouldn't be able to Apparate into Malfoy Manor, only out, and only from certain parts of the house. A broomstick was out of the question, as she wasn't sure how high up the ward went, if it was just a high perimeter or if, like Hogwarts, it was a completely encapsulated bubble. A thestral or hippogriff was laughably impractical, even if the former was true. Hermione stopped organizing her things and tapped her fingers on her leg impatiently, thinking.

Attempting to bend her brain around it was useless at the moment, but she would eventually come up with something, she always did. To top it off, Hermione still had her Herbology NEWT in the morning. Sighing again, she started a search for her copy of _Maypoole's Advanced Herbology_ , her NEWT prep textbook, _now with 5,000 up-to-the-minute sample questions!_ She checked the pile on her night stand. It wasn't there. It was likely at the bottom of the trunk she had already half packed. Rolling her eyes, Hermione crossed the room, and opened the lid of the trunk, and then started carefully removing items. Her hand closed around something hard and smooth. Curious, she drew it out. It was the original carved box that Lucius had given her, the one with the pig's blood. Hermione pursed her lips, still irritated by its insinuation. Even though it was empty, Hermione stood quickly and moved to throw it in the trash bin, when Lucius' words came back to her and she hesitated: _We can keep it simple, if you wish._

Hermione froze suddenly and looked at the small box before epiphany hit her with the force of a stupefying spell and her jaw dropped. It _was_ simple, so simple that she wished she had thought of it the first time, rather than risking her life with the actual plan she had executed. She took the box back over to her bed and sat down. She then picked her book bag off the floor and unceremoniously dumped its contents onto her bed, along with the box. She extracted _NEWT-Level Charms_ by Professor Alexander Herkimer and rifled through it frantically, before stopping at the chapter she was looking for: _Portkeys_.

Her eyes scanned the words quickly, skimming over the incant. She already knew how to do that, as evidenced by her actual Charms NEWT, she just wanted to refresh her memory on the mechanics of the charm itself as well as its regulatory oversight. She found both on the third page of the chapter: _...objects that make effective Portkeys wish quite sincerely to return to their rightful home. However, they will return very literally to where they came from, even if it is a dangerous or unpleasant place..._ Hermione smiled as she beheld the small box. She would happily return it to its home. She read on:

_When one casts the Portus charm, the affected item will become a Portkey immediately and remain so until the journey is completed for the witch or wizard, at which point the item will return to its mundane state. A magical delay (often referred to colloquially as a_ timer _) may be cast into the Portus item; as the Portus is cast, the witch or wizard must concentrate very firmly on the date and time at which the Portkey is to be activated._

_In Britain, the Ministry of Magic regulates the use of Portkeys. Unauthorized creation of Portkeys is against wizarding law and may be punished by a fine, or even by time in Azkaban Prison, depending on the intention of the witch or wizard and the accumulation of the offenses; for example, if the Portkey was created during an emergency, the Ministry in the past has been more lenient than in instances of mere whim or convenience. Portkey regulation is determined by the wand that casts the Portus charm. Upon being cast, every Portus charm is registered automatically within the Department of Magical Transportation, where a record is created of when it was cast and by whose wand. Through this record, the Department of Magical Transportation tracks down each unauthorized Portus charm and the caster is held accountable._

Hermione scowled. This, then, was the major hurdle in her perfectly simple plan. Although she had proved she was capable, if Hermione herself created the Portkey, she would have to answer for it to the Ministry, thus getting herself into trouble and potentially breaking her Vow. She turned the problematic little box over and over in her hands, pondering. Hermione's eyes lit up suddenly with a nasty little thought. She would get in trouble unless...her wand wasn't the one to cast the Portus Charm. It was Lucius' artifact and his house. If she could somehow cast the Portus Charm with his wand, Lucius would have to be the one to answer for the Portkey; thus, her loophole would become his noose. Hermione felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, thrilled by the idea of not just outsmarting Lucius, but of framing him as well. That would teach him not to test her, a lesson he should have learned an embarrassingly long time ago. Granted, Lucius would be furious with her, but that was totally fine as far as Hermione was concerned: let him be uncomfortable for once. 

However, getting Lucius' wand way from him without his knowing about it would not be easy in the slightest. Stealing his wand and returning it undetected would take resourcefulness and serious nerve, and if it was going to work at all, it would only work once, and only if his attention was completely diverted. The idea came to Hermione the following day when the graduating seventh year students and Hogwarts professors had gathered in the Great Hall for a dry run of the ceremony. 

The Great Hall had already been set up for the ceremony itself, with its normal table in place on the dais, where the professors normally sat, as well as the podium. Chairs had been set up for the rest of the Hogwarts students and their guests in the Great Hall proper. The house tables had been set up flanking the walls, draped with long cloths embroidered with the Hogwarts crest as well as those of the four houses. As Hermione walked in with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, she noted that the tables had cards that indicated who would be sitting where. 

As Head Girl, Hermione knew one of them would be hers. She broke from the professors to figure out where she would be sitting, praying that for the sake of what she had in mind, her place would be on the same side as Lucius, because she wasn't at all sure she would be able to get away with switching them on top of everything else. She started farthest from the dais, finding that her name was the first. She moved up the line, reading each name as she saw it: _H. Granger, G. Merrythought, H. Prewett, P. Selwyn_ , and then, to her relief, _L. Malfoy_ , four down from her, far enough but not too far. Better and better. 

Hermione's plan was extreme, in some sense even more drastic and nervy than the last one, but it was for that reason that it would work; she was absolutely sure. She came from around the table and caught up with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. "How long is your speech, Miss Granger?" asked Professor McGonagall, when Hermione had returned. 

"Brief, Professor, no more than five minutes," Hermione answered.

Professor McGonagall nodded and then repeated the same question to Head Boy Ernie Macmillan. McGonagall turned back to Dumbledore. "Following Macmillan's speech will be Finnegan and Thomas' fire magic exhibition. And then the speeches from each House Head, and all of those measure approximately five minutes as well. And then your speech, Headmaster. Is yours brief?" Hermione caught a flicker of knowing amusement in McGonagall's face.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "It is brief only in my imagination, Professor," he answered. "In my mind, it too is five minutes, but all of my carefully engineered chronographs clock it closer to fifteen. I'm afraid that it does grow somewhat with each passing year." He winked at Hermione and she grinned back at him. "After that," Dumbledore continued, "we shall have the processional to give the diplomas, which will be another fifteen minutes or so. We shall conclude with Professor Flitwick conducting the chorus for the two songs." Hermione knew that the fire magic demonstration would be her golden opportunity, but even if that wasn't enough time, the professor's speeches would be a good back-up. 

Feeling confident, Hermione walked back to the Common Room. She spent the evening reminiscing with Harry and Ron, which was bittersweet. She knew that she would keep their friendships after Hogwarts, but in no way would it be the same as living with them and attending class with them. It was the end of an era and she was unsure what the next chapter would bring.

Hermione dressed for bed slowly, reflecting that this was her last night at Hogwarts. The thought made her feel melancholy and as she looked around her cramped, perfectly round room, a tear slipped down her face. She brushed it away with the back of her hand, blew out her candle and lay her head down on her pillow, asleep almost the instant it touched. 

The next morning, Hermione arose, and went over the plan once more in her mind, visualizing each piece, envisioning herself successfully completing each part. She, Ron, and Harry took breakfast with Hagrid who was frankly a mess, loudly crying about how much he would miss them and how he would never have students like them again. They did their best to cheer him up, but Hermione was not sure that it had worked as Hagrid waved at them with a tear-soaked handkerchief as they walked back up to the castle. 

Later, Hermione dressed for the ceremony carefully, securing items she would need in the many pockets of her regalia: wand, box, other accouterments. She ran her hands through her hair before putting her hat on her head. She reviewed the notes for her speech once again and then heard the chimes ringing ten o'clock. It was time. She pulled her shoulders back and headed down to just outside the Great Hall. 

The ceremony was set for 10:30, but those participating had to come at ten o'clock to be in place. Rather than wearing their typical black robes, the seventh years wore graduation robes in their house colors: red trimmed with gold for Gryffindor, navy trimmed with bronze for Ravenclaw, yellow trimmed with black for Hufflepuff, and emerald green trimmed with silver for Slytherin. They were lined up just outside the front of the Great Hall, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor on the left and Hufflepuff and Slytherin on the right. 

The Board members, too, had lined up in front Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Hermione passed by them in order to get into her spot, each of the seven. Even though Lucius wasn't looking at her, he was looking past her a little too deliberately not to have noticed that she was there. Hermione surreptitiously reached into her robes and brought out a piece of parchment, putting her hand with the note down at her side. As Lucius had done a few weeks ago, Hermione brushed by his arm and slipped the note into his hand. He took it from her without changing his expression. Hermione moved past him and took her place behind Grace Merrythought, a distinguished witch with her silver hair elegantly arranged in a French twist. 

The line moved, filing into the Great Hall and their seats at the table. The rest of the seventh years came in behind them and sat in the front two rows, joining the rest of Hogwarts students and guests in the rest of the hall. The professors came in and took their accustomed places behind the podium. Dumbledore came in last and stepped up to the podium. He raised his hands and silence descended. "Welcome, all," Dumbledore started, his kind, calm voice filling the cavernous stone space. "And a most heartfelt congratulations to our seventh years." 

He went on to thank various people and Hermione glanced down her line at Lucius, gratified to see him unfold her note and read it under the table, while the rest of the Board members focused on Dumbledore. More generous in her written correspondence than Lucius, Hermione had written, _Today your well-maintained facade of gentlemanly aristocracy will be rigorously tested; I'm coming for you, so be ready to come for me. I hope you find my part of the ceremony "tolerable". -H._

hermione saw Lucius raise an eyebrow and look down the line at her, moving his head only slightly, so as not to be too obvious. She gave him the briefest flash of a smile before turning her face back to Dumbledore and schooling it back to polite interest as Dumbledore wrapped up his introduction. Hermione took out her note cards and cleared her throat. "But first," Dumbledore said, "I give you your Head Girl...Miss Hermione Granger." Applause rang through the Great Hall, accompanied by more than a few shouts and whistles. 

Face flushed with pleasure and nervous anticipation, Hermione deliberately put Lucius from her mind. She stood and walked up to the podium. Dumbledore smiled down at her, before reaching out and shaking her hand. Hermione smiled back at him. He walked to the side of the dais and sat down. Hermione took out her note cards and her wand. _"Sonorus,"_ she muttered. The sea of faces swam before her, and she took a deep breath, making each come into clarity once again: Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and all her fellow Gryffindors looked up at her, waiting.

"It's our time," Hermione said. Her voice sounded shaky. She took a slow, deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth, making sure to keep it quiet. Feeling somewhat better, she spoke again. "Time, like the magic we have learned here at Hogwarts, is changeable, malleable. When we first sat in this hall, as First Years about to be sorted, we measured time in seconds. I'm not sure about the rest of you, but the seconds that it took me to walk from my table to the Sorting Hat felt like they took hours." The audience laughed gently. "And in those few short seconds that the Sorting Hat touched each of our heads, our destinies were revealed to us in our Houses. All it took was a few seconds, but it was enough to change the course of each of our Hogwarts careers as the Hat determined our families and our loyalties, informed friendships and deep bonds that will surely outlast our Hogwarts careers." 

Confidence boosted, Hermione continued. "Later, but not much later, we measured in minutes. How many minutes late were we for Professor McGonagall? If you didn't know, don't worry; she most assuredly did." More laughter and a wry smile from the Transfiguration professor herself as Hermione turned to look at her. "Those minutes passed very quickly indeed, but what did not pass quickly was the subsequent detention that no doubt awaited those poor, tardy souls." Laughter again. She had them now and got into her stride. "On came the hours. Hours spent with close friends. Hours spend studying in the library. Hours spent in classes and those hours quickly turned into days, days counting down until the Hogsmeade weekends, days dreading upcoming exams, for some of us perhaps more acutely than for others." More gentle laughter. "And then weeks, and then months." 

"And finally years. One, two, three, four, five, six, and now seven...and here we are, having received seven years of the finest magical education any witch or wizard could hope for. Seven years of unforgettable moments, unbreakable friendships, unbelievable events. And now, at this time in our lives, Hogwarts is about to unleash us upon the rest of the wizarding world. One can hope that our experiences during this time, both good and bad, have strengthened us for that transition so that we, too, may strengthen our unique, but ultimately intimate community. 

Hermione took a deep breath and smiled. She nodded slowly, looking at each of her classmates in turn. "I feel ready. I think each and every one of you is ready as well. I have seen you perform extraordinary magic. I have seen you show incredible bravery. I have seen you demonstrate true integrity. One truth I have discovered during my time here at Hogwarts is that if you have integrity, nothing else matters. And if you don't have integrity..." at this point she finally looked at Lucius and made eye contact. "Nothing else matters." He lifted an eyebrow. 

Hermione kept his gaze for a few more heartbeats and then looked away from him once again and continued. "I have seen some of you change so remarkably over these seven years that there is no doubt in my mind that you too are ready." She looked at Neville when she said this, and saw him looking back at her, his eyes shining proudly; following the Department of Mysteries, Neville had come into his own as a wizard and what's more, he knew it. Hermione looked at Harry, and saw that he looked serious, but was nodding in agreement. "I'm proud of you. I'm proud of us. It's our time. Let's make the most of it."

Once again, the Great Hall erupted in applause and cheers. Grinning, Hermione exited and walked back to her seat. She took her wand out once again and said _"Quietus,"_ returning her voice back to normal. She took one more shaky breath, elated that her speech had gone well, and relieved that it was over. Ernie MacMillan had now taken the podium and started his speech. Hermione had plenty of time. She relaxed for a moment and focused on her next sequence of steps. Ernie's speech was as pompous as he was and Hermione stifled a yawn and found she was not the only one who was doing so. He was definitely going over five minutes. Finally, he wrapped up and the audience applauded fairly eagerly and Hermione had the uncharitable thought that their enthusiasm may have been at least partially motivated by relief that it was over. 

Ernie moved back to his chair on the opposite side of the Great Hall from Hermione. Dumbledore once again took the podium. "Fine words from our Head Girl and Head Boy. Shameful really, how sensible they have both become in the last seven years. And now for something that lacks all sense entirely, but is, for that, well worth our time and attention as what it lacks in sense it more than makes up for in magical talent: Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan will perform a fire magic exhibition." Dumbledore took out his wand and gestured to the podium, which followed him docilely back to his seat, clearing a spot for the show. Before he sat, Dumbledore flicked his wand at the tapestries, which rolled up as well, and then at the windows of the Great Hall, which became shaded against the bright morning light, throwing the large space into a deep twilight.

Hermione hadn't seen Dean and Seamus retreat during Ernie's speech, but they must have, because now they came out wearing all black, tight shirts to mitigate the risk of accidentally catching themselves on fire. The Great Hall cheered as they slowly, deliberately walked to the cleared space. They waited for the crowd to quell before taking their wands out. 

As Hermione had said in her speech, it was time. As the two Gryffindors cast their first fire spells and the crowd gasped, Hermione quietly cast a Confundus charm on Grace Merrythought. The stately witch's eyes glazed over for a moment and she looked at Hermione with the typical unfocused gaze of that particular spell. Hermione stared into her eyes intently. "Watch the show," she whispered. Grace Merrythought smiled pleasantly and turned her attention away from Hermione and back to Dean and Seamus. 

Hermione took a final glance around the hall. She couldn't have asked for better cover: not only was it dark, but every eye was riveted on Dean and Seamus. Hermione pushed her chair back slowly and slipped under the table. It was dark, dusty and hot, without a lot of room between the supports for the table, the tablecloth, and people's feet. However, being on the end, Hermione also had a bit more room where the table ended. Without moving the tablecloth, Hermione pulled her graduation gown over her head, laying it carefully down so she could get in the pockets. Underneath, she had dressed in cropped, stretchy exercise capris and a tee-shirt, clothes for not overheating, and for moving easily. Not within the dress code for the day, but the regalia covered her outfit completely, she still had her regulation Mary Janes on her feet, and it wasn't as if anyone would be checking.

 _"Lumos minima,"_ she whispered. Using her pinpoint of light, Hermione dug around in her pockets and found a hair tie. She removed her hat as well, and tied her copious hair back in a messy but efficient bun. The only other item she needed was the box, which she found in another pocket. Necessities thus acquired, Hermione moved. Avoiding feet and table supports, she crawled down the stone floor, all while running the seating chart litany in her mind: _G. Merrythought, H. Prewett, P. Selwyn, L. Malfoy, G. Merrythought, H. Prewett, P. Selwyn, L. Malfoy._ Merlin help her if she counted wrong. 

She needn't have worried. Lucius always had the most expensive shoes, polished to a high shine by one of his many house elves. Even better, his walking stick and thus his wand were under the table, the wand end unfortunately closer to Lucius than to her. The crowd was muffled, but Hermione could still hear them gasp and cheer on occasion. Hermione pointed her wand at the shoes to Lucius' right. _"Confundus."_ She repeated the charm to the person on his left. She hated to do it, but she couldn't afford to leave anything to chance. 

Hermione didn't waste a moment. She didn't want to startle Lucius, so she just tapped his foot lightly. He moved slightly, but without seeing his face, she had no idea what he must be thinking. Hermione placed her own wand and the box carefully on the floor right next to her. She tapped his foot once again and when he didn't move, she moved her hands up his legs. She could feel him tense, but nothing else. She moved her hands higher. She massaged his legs slowly until she felt him start to relax. At this point, he had to know it was her. Had she been able to see him, he no doubt would be looking down the table, noting her absence, and with any luck, also noticing that the people flanking him were Confunded. 

She moved her hands between his legs, letting them trail lightly, and then firmly. She was gratified to see his cock stir under his trousers. Things were going just as planned, but then Lucius reached for his wand. As she watched him, Hermione swore internally, every cuss word she had ever learned ran a mental tumult as she started to panic. Through sheer force of will only, she didn't allow herself to slacken her pace whatsoever as Lucius stealthily took out his wand. Hermione stroked his cock through his trousers, her heart hammering as she strained to hear above the sounds from the Great Hall. She finally did hear Lucius say _"Confundus,"_ twice in close succession. It was quiet, but he had definitely said it. 

Hermione smiled. Apparently, they had the same idea, and better yet, he had taken the bait. When Hermione had come up with the plan, she knew Lucius wouldn't be able to resist. Based on his past patterns of behavior, there were certain things Hermione had learned about him. Lucius got off on being in Hogwarts, putting himself and her at risk of being caught, and committing acts of depravity right under Dumbledore's nose; in sum, breaking rules and getting way with it. Giving him head in the Great Hall, under a House table, in front of everyone and yet with no one knowing, during graduation, was the perfect storm. _It's dirty on every level,_ Hermione thought, _sexually dirty, physically dirty, and dirty warfare for sure._ Clearly, Lucius agreed, because his cock was delightfully rigid under Hermione's exploring hands.

Slowly, Lucius replaced his wand and put his walking stick back. Hermione let out a sigh of relief. With one hand, Lucius undid his trousers and moved slightly so that the parts of him that Hermione needed to get to were completely under the tablecloth. Her way now cleared, Hermione took out his cock and moved her hand up and down it, feeling its warmth, its own pulse. 

Hermione wanted to hurry up, but knew that patience was the name of the game. She licked just the tip of Lucius' cock in slow circles, forcing herself to move unhurriedly. Gradually, she moved more of him into her mouth until she took him totally, letting the head of his cock press gently into the back of her throat, still moving in a leisurely manner, just as Lucius would have done. It was a shame that she couldn't see his face and the effort he was putting into outward restraint. He was definitely into it, however, because he would gently tense his pelvis every so often in response to Hermione's caresses. Luckily it was dim in the room, everyone's attention was on Dean and Seamus' show, and Lucius' neighbors were Confunded. A second Confundus spell wasn't going to do much, but Hermione was grateful that Lucius knew for sure that it was in effect, as it would make him more relaxed and thus able to get into what she was doing, all while pretending otherwise. 

Hermione added in a hand, once again, starting with a feather-light touch, moving slowly, deliberately. Sweat rolled down her face, her back, and between her breasts. It was sweltering under the table, and Hermione still had to get the wand, cast the spell, and return the wand, all while giving an effective, non-rushed, yet non-delayed, essentially perfect blowjob. It was still a huge gamble, as she couldn't see his reaction; for all she knew, Lucius might be watching her steal his wand. She just had to take a leap of faith that he was truly distracted. 

With her free hand, Hermione eased his walking stick towards her, closer...closer. She increased the pace on his cock, moving her tongue creatively, as she had the last time she had done this with him. She watched his abdominal wall contract and relax and knew that he was getting close. As much as Hermione could be patient, she also suspected that Lucius would by necessity and pragmatism come quickly, not just because he was turned on, but because the longer he took, the higher the risk was of their getting caught. Hermione suspected that Lucius liked the idea far more than the reality of detection, so it was in his best interest to take his pleasure in her mouth as efficiently as possible this time around. 

With little time to waste, Hermione fortunately now had his walking stick, the wand end turned to face her. Without changing speed or technique, she planted one knee on top of it and with her unoccupied hand, freed his wand. She placed it down on the floor, and now put both hands on Lucius' now slippery cock, along with her mouth, once again increasing the pace with the express intention of pushing him over the edge. He breathed faster and then his pelvis tightened and he came in her mouth, salty on her tongue and the back of her throat. She hadn't really thought about what to do when this happened, and it had never happened to her before, but for once, she didn't over-think it; she simply didn't have time to dwell on the etiquette, concept, hygeine, or anything else related to swallowing cum from a well-executed blowjob. As dirty as it was, she felt a moment of gratitude that she had tasted his cum before so it wasn't as much of a shock as it could have been.

 _Don't think about it, just do it._ She tilted her chin down and swallowed quickly, and then it was over, less of a big deal than Hermione had thought it would be. Keeping one hand on him, she grabbed Lucius' wand and pointed it at the box. _"Portus,"_ she said quietly. She focused very deliberately on Saturday, June 20th at 8:30 pm. She didn't know exactly where she would end up, so she wanted to give herself plenty of time. The box glowed white for a moment before fading. Hermione moved her mouth back onto Lucius' cock, gently licking the traces of residual cum from the tip, all while quickly putting his wand back into his walking stick, flipping it back around and easing it back towards him. Mission accomplished, Hermione finally disengaged from him and moved back. Lucius put his cock back and re-did his trousers as the Great Hall erupted in applause and cheers. Dean and Seamus were done, so Hermione would have to hurry.

Hermione carefully gathered her own wand and the box. She had grabbed the box with her bare hand, so the fact that she didn't immediately transport to Malfoy Manor was encouraging as well, which would have been one of the many ways for her to botch the charm. Breathing a sigh of relief yet again, she crawled back towards her end. When she got there, she hurriedly put her regalia back on, took her hair down and shook it out before replacing her hat as well. She put the box and her wand back into her pockets and quickly re-emerged from under the table, relieved once again that she could see the room was still dark and everyone was still cheering for Dean and Seamus, who were taking their bows. It must have been a terrific show, and indeed Hermione felt disappointed to miss it, but at the same time she was grateful that it had provided such a seamless distraction for the rest of the hall while she herself distracted Lucius. 

Grace Merrythought did not give Hermione even a glance as she adjusted herself on her seat. Hermione risked a look at Lucius, who was clapping politely, face haughty and detached as always. Hermione smiled once more and then turned to her neighbor. She quietly got her wand out one more time and cast a quick Finite Incantatum before turning her attention back to the floor as the shade cleared and sunlight streamed back into the Great Hall. Hermione took a long breath, filling her lungs with air and letting it back out again slowly. She was over her first obstacle.

CHAPTER 36: DISCOVERY

The rest of the day went all too quickly; Hermione said her goodbyes and made her last walk through the doors of the Great Hall. Before she knew it she was on the Hogwarts Express headed back to London. She made a connection onto a Muggle train, and she was once again standing on the steps of her childhood home. Coming home had gotten increasingly surreal since her first year at Hogwarts. She could feel distance forming between herself and her parents that widened as she became more entrenched in the wizarding world and more detached from the Muggle world. Hermione wondered if all Muggle-borns went through something similar. 

Her parents opened the door and welcomed her back in with somewhat strained hugs. They exchanged some polite words, but it was as if they had no idea what to say to each other. Hermione made some excuse about being tired and took her stuff upstairs and sat on her bed, looking around the room she had spent only a few days in for the last seven years.

Lucius' words came back to her regarding her place in the wizarding community: _it's almost as if you know you don't belong in this world and are making every effort to hide it._ As a witch, she had worked hard not because she felt she didn't belong but because she was driven and she loved everything about magic, particularly learning about it and that was the end of the story. On the other hand, he had a point about Muggle-borns and their struggle, a struggle neither he nor any of his family had ever had to face. Although the rules were bent for the Muggle families of witches like her regarding the Statute of Secrecy, it was just so difficult to find common ground. 

But then, where did that put her now? Because of these very issues, Hermione had no intention of re-joining the Muggle world. At this point, she itched to be back in the wizarding world, so she would have to solve the problem of housing that Lucius had brought up sooner rather than later. She had arranged a paid summer internship with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted to do. All she knew for sure was that she wanted to spend as little time as possible in her parents' house. She loved them, and always would, but her sense of detachment was uncomfortable for everyone involved. 

The week between graduation and the Saturday Hermione was supposed to see Lucius dragged and the sense of surreality increased as Hermione engaged in Muggle tasks that her mother asked her to do. She walked to the fluorescent-lit Tesco for salad dressing. She waited patiently for her mother to be off the phone with the cable company when she was _on hold for the third time this month, Hermione, honestly._ Hermione thumbed through the Cosmopolitan magazines in the waiting room of her parents' dental practice, smirking at an article titled _Ridding Your Life of Toxic People for Good!_ mostly because it reminded her of her pureblood wizard lover, who she was afraid to admit that she actually sort of missed, and who had been literally toxic on occasion. 

Strangely, the one thing that made her feel any sense of peace was taking that same toxic pureblood wizard's advice: Hermione had started to run every day. The first day, she had put on her running shoes and ran around the neighborhood for fifteen minutes, finishing totally winded. The next day, she added two minutes. And then two minutes the day after. Her inner thighs, calves, and ankles burned with soreness, but still she persevered. Eventually, the day of Hermione's escape finally came. The sun rose, and it was a pleasant enough day, warm with not a cloud in the sky. On her daily run, Hermione followed the same route that she had run the first day and noted with some satisfaction that she had taken thirty whole seconds off of her time. When she got back to her room, she recorded her time on a piece of parchment. That was without question the most interesting part of her day, mostly because she was counting down the hours as the sun crawled inexorably across the clear blue sky. At eight o'clock that evening, Hermione's parents started watching their favorite police show on television. Hermione excused herself on the pretense of wanting to read and walked up the stairs to her old bedroom. 

Hermione took the Portus-charmed box out of her bag and put it on her bed, along with an anti-fertility potion, and her wand. She drank the potion, mentally noting that she was either going to have to have _that_ conversation with Lucius and/or learn how to brew it herself. She didn't want to buy it, although she supposed it was what many witches and wizards probably did. Hermione quickly changed into a short black satin slip with spaghetti straps and black lacy underwear. Over top of this, she layered a hooded black pull-over and pulled on the same black Lycra cropped pants. Black socks and sneakers completed the ensemble. 

Hermione looked at her watch. 25 minutes left. Perhaps she had escaped her parents' company too soon. It would have been nice to know whether it was the jealous ex-husband or the stalker co-worker who had murdered the victim on the show, but Hermione wanted to be extra-careful. Still, it was anxiety-inducing to watch each minute tick by on her watch. At 8:29, heart pounding, she held her hand over the box. She watched the second hand move incrementally around the watch face and at 8:30 exactly, she held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut and closed her hand around the box. 

She felt a strong pull in her abdomen and suddenly felt herself spinning. Hermione opened her eyes. The world tumbled around her, her room, clouds, trees, houses, all a chaotic jumble of light and color. Within seconds she felt herself falling, flying, being jerked in one direction and then another. It was so much worse than Apparating, or at least, Apparating now that she was actually good at it, but weirdly, she felt exhilarated at experiencing actual magic for the first time in a week, as uncomfortable as this particular brand of magic felt. Hermione breathed, forcing herself to tranquility in the knowledge that it would be over soon. She would have to land quietly, and the only chance of that was to clear her mind and maintain a state of mental tranquility.

The world became darker and suddenly Hermione came to a stop, flat on her back, which knocked the wind out of her. She managed to hold onto the box, but she was in a very tight, claustrophobic sort of a place. She stayed still on the surface of wherever she was for a minute or two, regaining her breath and her composure. The place in which she found herself was pitch black, quiet, and warm, stiflingly so. When she breathed in through her nose, the smell of old parchment and dust greeted her. Her right hand still clutching her wand in a death grip, Hermione whispered _"Lumos."_

Her wand tip ignited and Hermione sat up carefully and looked around. She was in some sort of crawlspace, and what she sat on was a giant, black timber. When she looked to her left and her right, she could see more giant timbers, symmetrical, running in a series off one main timber that ran perpendicular to the others, for so far in either direction, she could not see where it ended. All around her lay boxes, folders, and loose documents and bits of parchment. Some were organized and labeled, but some had been thrown about haphazardly as if placed in greatest urgency. 

Hermione almost laughed out loud. She was in Malfoy Manor all right, but in the ceiling. Not the most graceful entrance, but there was no doubt that her Portkey had worked. Now all she had to do was find an exit. She got onto her hands and knees and looked at the space between the giant timbers for some sort of door or latch. Nothing to her left. She looked to her right. Nothing there either. It had to be close by, just judging by the way the items were distributed. Except...they seemed to be increasing in organization and number off to her right. 

She crawled to the center and down the main beam until she reached the next one that crossed. Still nothing. Hermione crossed to the next one and finally hit pay dirt. A trapdoor had been fitted almost seamlessly midway between her timber and the next. Hermione held her wand aloft, looking for hinges or locks when something caught her eye. One of the piles of folders had tilted, slipping its contents over in a cascade. The bottom folder was a black one that had _Ginevra M. Weasley_ written on its tab in golden ink, the handwriting unmistakable as belonging to Lucius.

Hermione looked at the folder curiously; it was a strange thing to have up in the attic. _Granted,_ Hermione thought, _Lucius might have it because he was a Board Member, but then why was it hidden up here?_ Hermione reached out and tentatively took it, all while holding her breath and being careful not to disturb the rest of the pile. The front of the folder was embossed with the gold and silver Ministry of Magic crest. Stamped in bright purple ink were the words: _Unspeakable Clearance Level A Only._ "What in Merlin's name?" Hermione whispered. Another smaller stamp underneath, this one fuchsia, said _Copy._ Hermione opened the folder and began to read.

A paper clip held a picture of Ginny, one that looked like it had been taken around the time of the 7th Year Ball. She looked somber in the picture; she was alone, wearing her school uniform, sitting on a stool, as if for a portrait. The facing page was a list of statistics: name, date of birth, parents' names, sibling's names, grades in school, etc. Impatiently, Hermione moved the paper to the other side of the folder and looked underneath. The next page down held a waiver that Ginny had signed agreeing to submit to anything the Auror Division could dish out in the name of training, regardless of how dangerous:

_I, the undersigned, to hereby grant permission for the Auror Division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to administer such assessments as its cadre deem appropriate to measure my suitability for the position of Auror, and to undergo instruction aligning with the objectives of the Auror Division. I sign in full awareness that such tests and training may cause me physical, psychological, and spiritual harm..._

Suspicion growing, Hermione moved that paper out of the way and looked at the next one. Once again, Lucius' handwriting looked back at her, underneath a red stamp that said _Ministry Approved_ with the initials _RHS_ scrawled below, no doubt for Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour. Underneath that, it read:

_Candidate: Ginevra M. Weasley_

_May 24th: Candidate physically assaulted by fellow student and un-vetted, but also unwitting training participant Draco L. Malfoy on the pretense of being taken to St. Mungo's hospital for a higher level of care; intercepted en route and subsequently transported to Malfoy Manor for assessment._ Hermione's heart flipped over. _Assessment?_ she thought, _what assessment? What was going on?_ She read on. 

_Apneo curse: tolerated as expected, but no viable information given by/extracted from candidate._

_Aquagyali spell: tolerated as expected, but no viable information given by/extracted from candidate._

_Intra-venous application of Osseofuego poison: tolerated as expected, but no viable information given by/extracted from candidate._

_Cruciatus curse, tolerated as expected, but no viable information volunteered by/extracted successfully from subject._

_Imperius Curse: tolerated exceptionally:able to resist and even render false information while under its effects._

_Final impression: adept at withstanding torture, high fortitude and discipline, aptitude for deception, even under severe psychological/physical threat and adverse spiritual pressure._

_Future with Auror Office: Favorable._

_[Footnote: Candidate successfully infiltrated the Hall of Prophecy in the Ministry of Magic two years prior, casting Reducto, Expelliarmus, Stupefy, and Levicorpus on two different, confirmed Death Eaters, showing fair-to-competent magical aptitude under the stress of combat and hazard of imminent death]._

_The aforementioned narrative is true to the best of my recollection and is henceforth faithfully submitted to the Auror Division, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, by the undersigned:_

_Lucius Abraxus Malfoy  
Senior Cadre Member_

The crawlspace spun around Hermione as a wave of dizziness hit her. Hyperventilating, she put her head between her knees and waited for it to pass, the implications of what she just read staggering her. She moved that piece of paper out of the way, revealing the non-disclosure agreement that they had all signed the day of the Vow. Underneath that was another agreement, with a different date altogether, one a few weeks later. It was another non-disclosure agreement, this one from the Auror Office, which included a paragraph about not disclosing Lucius' involvement with her training or his involvement with the Auror Office in general. The next page contained information regarding a start date that summer for an internship, followed by a full-time job upon graduation, assuming adequate work performance as evidenced by a favorable three-month evaluation. 

Hands trembling, Hermione replaced the folder quietly, now fully unnerved by what she had unearthed. It explained so many things, such as why Ginny had unhesitatingly ran interference with the twins the night of the Ball and why she wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes the day of the Vow, if there even was a Vow for her at all. Still, this newly exposed revelation certainly created more questions than it answered: how much about what had happened back in May had been at the Ministry's behest? Why had Lucius and thus the Ministry made Draco take part without disclosing the truth to him, all while knowing that he would be expelled from Hogwarts as a result? How much had Dumbledore known? Was he protecting Lucius? Was that the real reason he had tried to keep Hermione from interfering when Ginny had disappeared? Was that also why he had modified Lee's memory?

The last and perhaps the most relevant question of all was, what was in it for Lucius? What had it taken to push Lucius to the point of turning his cloak so much that he was willing to cooperate with the Auror office? If what Hermione had read and its grander meaning were true, everything that she thought she knew about Lucius was wrong. Everything everyone knew about him was no more or less than a vast deception, perhaps his greatest of all: he was actually on their side, the side against Voldemort.

Everyone thought he was still a Death Eater, including her. In fact, as Lucius himself had said, Hermione had been counting on it in the beginning, but he had corrected her every single time, calling himself a _former_ Death Eater, over and over, every time the phrase had come up in conversation. Hermione and Ginny had both assumed he was being facetious, especially after what happened to Ginny. But if that had been at the Ministry's behest, for the purposes of training Ginny for Aurorship, Lucius wasn't acting as a Death Eater at all, but as an ally. 

What Lucius said came back to Hermione: _I played the role into which I had been cast...a Death Eater is what you expected, as cruel, intolerant, and vicious as you desired me to be. That_ is _what you wanted, isn't it?_ He had already told her the truth, many times over, she just hadn't listened. He must have known she wouldn't believe him; anything else would be dangerous to him. What was it his wife had said? _Lucius tells just enough truth to keep everyone guessing._ Then Hermione felt a sudden shiver of fear: what would happen to him if Voldemort found out? Lucius excelled at manipulation and at slipping out of trouble, but Voldemort was a different variable all together. Hermione's eyes widened as she realized that what she was feeling was actual worry and concern for Lucius. 

Hermione wasn't sure how long she sat in the crawlspace pondering, but it suddenly occurred to her that she was there for another reason entirely. She looked at her watch. 8:55. How was it that 25 minutes crawled at her parents' but raced in Malfoy Manor? She would have to hurry. She pointed her wand at the seams in the ceiling. _"Alohamora,"_ she whispered. She heard a creak and the door slowly opened. _"Nox,"_ she said. 

As soon as she dimmed her wand, Hermione saw a glow down the crawlspace just ahead of her. She squinted in the dark. It was a large dark cabinet with locked drawers, but around the cracks where the drawers fit, eerie blue light glowed softly out. Hermione had no idea what it was and unfortunately didn't have time to satisfy her curiosity. She turned her attention instead to the space below her. The room she looked down on was dim, the twilight of the second longest day of the year lingering in the large windows. She looked over top of a desk and a chair, two couches facing each other, and bookshelves that lined the walls. 

The trapdoor had opened right over the top of one bookshelf. Hermione slid down on her belly, reaching her feet down until they touched. She carefully shut the trapdoor behind her. It clicked shut and magically sealed itself into the molding in the ceiling. It was ingenious really; she now couldn't see it at all. In looking at it, she wondered if its contents had evaded Arthur Weasley's many raids. It seemed likely. Hermione climbed down the bookshelf and stood on the Oriental rug. She was in Lucius' office. Besides bookshelves, it contained a number of locked cabinets. On any other day, her curiosity would have been mild, but now it was a towering inferno. What else was he hiding?

In spite of the dimness in the room, a strange light caught her eye, very similar in color and quality to what she had seen in the attic. One of the desk drawers was ajar and a pale glow shone out. Hermione walked to the desk and peered in the drawer. She opened it a few more inches, slowly so as not to make even a creak. The drawer contained a stack of blank parchment, a few ink bottles, and a single ampule, the source of the light. 

Hermione gently took it out and peered into it. Its liquid was translucent, but ever-changing, like a light-filled, dancing fog and Hermione recognized it as a memory. There was a label on the other side, with fresh-looking ink that Hermione didn't touch, lest it run and give away that it had been molested. It read: _L. Malfoy & R. Scrimgeour, February 17th._ It was a memory of something that had occurred while Lucius was still in Azkaban, but within a few months of his release. Hermione's guess was that it was a conversation, likely a secret one between notorious but influential Death Eater Lucius Malfoy and Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour and it encompassed the details of Lucius' early release. Further, Hermione had a hunch that the folder in the attic and the memory in the drawer were inexorably linked. Sudden realization came to her that the cabinet up in the attic likely held other memories belonging Lucius. Never in her life had she wanted knowledge as badly as she did in that moment, and never in her life had she felt so frustrated that she had no way to access it.

CHAPTER 37: CHECKMATE

Just then, the clock on the desk started to chime, a haunting, musical melody on what Hermione assumed were probably fairy bells. Beautiful though it was, it reminded Hermione that her time was up. With every ounce of willpower, present only in the fact that Lucius would miss it, Hermione put the memory back in the drawer and closed it to where it had been. It was careless of Lucius to leave it out; he must have just made it and hadn't had a chance to put it up in the attic yet with its sleeping siblings. Hermione took one last, regretful glance at the drawer before leaving the office. 

Hermione walked down the hall, past tapestries and suits of armor, her sneakered feet creating ripples in the veined marble that increased in velocity as her speed increased. She found herself back in the atrium and closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her bearings and trying to remember which way to go. Figuring it out, she headed in the appropriate direction. 

As she had the last time she was in Malfoy Manor, she saw light coming out from the drawing room door. She pocketed her wand, squared her shoulders and approached. At the doorway, she heard the clock in the room chime nine o'clock as well. She smiled and knocked. A few seconds later, Lucius opened the door, dressed in a robe and drawstring pants. 

He smiled down at her, looking genuinely pleased and impressed. "Welcome, Miss Granger," he said, opening the door for her. She stepped past him into the room. No fire was burning; it was too warm a night, but candles had been lit, giving the room a comfortable, soft glow. Hermione walked over to the couch and stood, hands clasped in front of her. 

Lucius closed the door and turned to her. "Your competence as a burglar as well as your punctuality is splendid," he said. 

Hermione inclined her head modestly, but said nothing, still feeling the shock of her recent discovery.

Lucius continued. "Also, I feel that I should thank you for your diversion during that mind-numbing annual ritual, Hogwarts graduation."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm speaking of course of your much-improved oral skills."

Hermione opted to deliberately misinterpret his statement, just for a laugh. "My speech? I thought it was pretty good, a little earnest, perhaps."

"Your speech _was_ inspired, melting even my icy heart," Lucius said, "I particularly enjoyed the quip about integrity. However, I was actually referring to your under-the-table oral skills. How ironic that the same mouth that was talking about integrity one moment would be so oppositely engaged the moment following."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What? Did someone actually have the audacity to climb under the table during graduation and distract you with oral sex? That's rather crude, but flattering, I suppose...I mean, if you're into that sort of thing. Clearly I'm not your only admirer. But whoever could it be?"

Lucius gave her an exasperated look. 

Hermione smiled, dropping her pretense. "I thought you might appreciate a break in the tedium and the opportunity was too tempting to pass up."

Lucius returned her smile. "I'm so glad you thought so...such a risky display of capricious rule-breaking. Tell me, if you would: did you accept what I gave you, or did you reject it?"

"Do you mean, did I swallow?"

Lucius looked theatrically horrified. "I would _never_ presume to be that vulgar, but yes, that is what I'm attempting to find out."

Hermione's smile widened. " _You_ can be plenty vulgar when the mood suits you but yes, I took it all and I kept it, everything that you wanted to give me," she said. _And some things perhaps that you didn't,_ she added silently.

Lucius looked pleased. "And now you've successfully broken into my house a second time. Whatever next?"

Hermione folded her arms. "Except that I'm not stealing anything from you tonight," she answered, reflecting that Lucius had no idea how painfully true that statement actually was. "You're the criminal, not me."

He crossed the room and stood in front of her. "Pardoned criminal, remember?"

"Remind me again how that happened? Your actions and motivations still seem less than savory to me." 

Lucius sighed. "For my heinous crimes, I showed true contrition, and by that I mean money changed hands. I cannot put it more plainly than that."

Hermione frowned. She knew he was lying, or at the very least, only telling her a fraction of what actually happened. "You had money and plenty of it before you were incarcerated, so why go through two years in Azkaban before buying your way out when you could have plea bargained early and avoided the entire thing?" 

"Who's to say I wasn't seeking repentance or rehabilitation?" Lucius said with a smirk. 

"Me. Anyone. Everyone. Take your pick," Hermione said flatly. "I'm sure you would have been perfectly content not getting caught in the first place." _And not having your rear end handed to you by Sirius Black,_ she thought. Out loud she asked, "And you hate it when anyone wastes your time, so why the delay?"

Lucius' smile faded. "Did you come here to interrogate me as well as burgle me?" 

Hermione gave up; she would get nowhere and do nothing more than push him further away. She let her arms relax by her sides, the box still clutched in her left. "I serve as a burglar only at your pleasure." 

He looked her up and down slowly. "You didn't activate any of my many alarms, your clothes aren't muddy or wet, nor do you seem to have leaves or twigs in your hair. You're not moving as if your ribs are broken this time. Would you be so cruel a mistress as to refuse to divulge how you broke in this time?"

Hermione half smiled. "Oh, I'll tell you, Mr. Malfoy, but you aren't going to like it." She played the honorific just the same as he himself had done in the past with her name. 

"I'm not? And why is that?"

"As it happens, I'm returning something of yours."

"Indeed? What might that be?"

Hermione held out the box.

Lucius regarded it. "I certainly don't need that back, Miss Granger; I have a dozen just like it, but I appreciate your consideration, minute and misplaced though it may be."

Now it was time for the fun part. "It must be just thrilling to be that rich, but I should tell you that this one is not at all like the others; in fact, it is _far_ more valuable, or was mere minutes ago." She tilted her head to the side, and modulated her speech slowly and deliberately, in a spot-on Lucius impression. "Are you _absolutely_ sure you don't want it back? Tread carefully, Mr. Malfoy. An object like this, falling into the wrong hands..." She trailed off, waiting.

Lucius paused for a moment, before looking at the box and then back at her, comprehension dawning on his face. He took the box from her hand and held it up between them. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?" he finally asked. "This is an unauthorized Portkey that you'll now have to explain to the Department for Magical Transportation. How do you anticipate that conversation going, may I ask?"

"Come now, stop pretending you're not impressed," Hermione said, grinning.

Lucius frowned. "I'm not impressed, I'm disappointed in your recklessness and lack of subtlety," he said, setting the offending box on one of the end tables. "While you did break into my house, you're going to be caught and although being caught by me is less than optimal, being caught by people who could put your Vow in danger could be life-threatening. They'll extract every detail regarding this Portkey, I assure you. This may come as a shock to you, but there are those in the Ministry that do not trust me, despite my repentance."

"What? No!" Hermione looked scandalized.

Lucius ignored her and continued. "Thus, Portkeys involving me in any way are some of the most high-profile and thus, most closely scrutinized. Your inability to lie is going to be detrimental; although actually, there's a part of me that would like to see you try. To be candid, I'm shocked that you're acting this flippant about something so serious."

"That's sweet of you to worry, and thank you so very much for offering to help," Hermione said, touching his arm for a moment, "but I think I'll be fine." She arranged her face into an expression of befuddlement, stroking her chin with one hand. "It's _your_ object and _your_ house," she said slowly, as if trying to work it out, while opening her hand in his direction, "so explain to me, if you would, how _I_ am going to get into trouble."

"My word, how _did_ you pass your Charms NEWT?" Lucius asked, raising his eyebrows. "It may be _my_ possession, Portkeying into _my_ house, but none of that matters because _you_ cast the Portus charm, so it will be traced back to you. I told you that you couldn't get away with anything." He smirked at her before turning and walking back to the door. He held it open for her. "Perhaps you'll come up with a better plan next time. Best of luck at your hearing." 

Hermione returned his smirk with one of her own and remained exactly where she was. _Oh good, he's going to be insufferable about this too,_ she thought. "Except that I didn't cast it," she said.

Lucius closed the door once more. "Come again?" 

"Perhaps later," Hermione said, fighting a valiant battle against the smile that threatened to split her face in half. 

"You're too clever by half, Miss Granger." Lucius' voice was light, but he was now looking at her warily. He walked back towards her.

Hermione shrugged. "If you really meant that you'd like me to repeat my previous statement because you didn't hear it or you didn't understand it, I would be glad to." She spoke slowly and clearly, "I didn't cast the Portus charm. You did."

"I have never in my life turned this box into a Portkey."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Very well, I can see that I've lost you. Technically speaking, you're right; _you_ didn't cast the Portus."

Lucius sighed impatiently. "That's what I just--"

She cut him off, delivering the killing blow: "Your wand did." 

Lucius now narrowed his eyes; he had known her long enough to believe her, but it was clear that he had no idea how she had done it. His suspicion and growing panic almost made Hermione's mouth water, it was so delicious. "Wait, how did you--?" Lucius started

Hermione let her smile turn feral. "My risky display of capricious rule-breaking and vastly improved under-the-table oral skills, done with the sole purpose of distracting you completely from what would have otherwise been a frightfully boring hour." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "You're welcome." Hermione raised her voice once again. "It created the perfect opportunity to disarm you once more. To be completely honest, I couldn't have done it without your blithe trust and enthusiasm so really, I should be thanking you." Lucius' look of shock and disbelief was every bit as glorious as Hermione had dreamed. "I warned you that you weren't going to like it," she finished. As if on cue, they heard a gentle knock on the door. 

_"What?"_ Lucius shouted, making Hermione start a little. 

A house elf wearing a Malfoy-crested tea towel entered, bearing a silver tray. He brought it forth and held it towards Lucius. The tray bore an envelope stamped with the Ministry _M_. Lucius grabbed it from the tray. The house elf backed out in well-practiced haste at seeing his master's wrath, closing the door quietly behind him.

Glaring murderously at Hermione, Lucius opened the letter. To Hermione's delight, it was a Howler. It jumped out of the envelope and started its missive, pleasant and professional, but firm:

_"Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_It has come to the Ministry's attention that at 8:30 pm this night, the 20th of June, an unauthorized Portkey created by your wand was activated. This is in violation of the Restriction of Unauthorized Magical Transportation Act of 1942. Your hearing for this matter has been set for this Wednesday, the 24th of June at 10 o'clock in the morning in Courtroom 3 in the Ministry of Magic._

_Yours most respectfully,_

_Wilhelmina Hawthorne-Burkes  
Deputy Head of the Department for Magical Transportation."_

Its message discharged, the parchment then fell between them. 

Lucius looked at the note and then back at Hermione, who was struggling to contain her glee. She did her best to adopt a look of concern. "That's...wow...how unfortunate for you. Do you have _any_ idea how much trouble you're in?" she said, looking at the Howler and shaking her head in apparent empathy. "What is that age-old saying about the Malfoys? Something about never being caught at the scene of the crime, but so often with your fingerprints on the guilty wand; I believe that's how it goes...Terribly ironic when that statement gets turned around, isn't it? What was it you were saying about _me_ not being able to get away with anything? I mean, you didn't even do it and you _still_ didn't get away with it." She winced sympathetically. " _That_ can't feel good. Anyway, best of luck at your hearing." Hermione's eyes were starting to water from the effort of trying not to laugh. 

Lucius said nothing. The only other time Hermione had seen him this angry was when she had confronted him with the pictures. Only this time, he could do nothing whatsoever to harm her and even he would have to admit that she had won, perhaps not fairly, but without question. The whole idea of her breaking in without getting caught was his in the first place; in fact, he had made it the deal-breaking stipulation in order for her to see him again. He finally spoke. "Are you finished?" he whispered, his voice icy. 

"Well, you haven't yet told me what I've won, so--" 

"Stop," Lucius said. Hermione fell silent. "I'm afraid we're going to have to delay our night of pleasure while I send an urgent owl to the Ministry."

"Because of this?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Yes, because of this," Lucius snapped. He sighed and ran both his hands through his hair before steepling them in front of his mouth and fixing her with a piercing stare. "Wait here, if you would be so kind, Miss Granger." He walked to the door, stepped out and slammed it behind him.

Hermione finally allowed herself to laugh, clamping her hand over her mouth. Twisting the knife had felt fantastic, so fantastic that her face was actually starting to ache from smiling. Her plan's success had exceeded her expectations and her triumph was even sweeter than she imagined. Unfortunately, her evening was tainted by that tantalizing memory just out of her reach, as well as that accursed folder. Why, of all nights, did she have to come across them tonight?

When she got herself under control and took a few deep breaths to relax her abdomen, Hermione sat down and looked around the room. She desperately wanted to go back down the hall and grab the memory, but it would have been a fool's errand. It wasn't as if she could take it with her. What she needed was a Penseive and a lot more time. She had no idea how long Lucius would be and in any event, he probably was headed down to his office where the memory rested, completely erasing any options tonight. She sighed, frustrated at the opportunity slipping through her fingers.

Hermione's options were bleak. She could ask him flat out, but Lucius had already been evasive in the matter of his Azkaban release, and that was before she had blown a massive hole in his ego with her big reveal. Even under the rosiest of circumstances, say post-coitus, if she were to ask him, his answer would be slick and calculated. Tricking him and framing him had destroyed any chance that he would trust her to the extent of telling her the truth about Scrimgeour and Azkaban, or Ginny's secret file, at least, not tonight. Another option would be to angle another invite, but even that was in jeopardy.

In fact, for the first time since Lucius had told her she had to break into Malfoy Manor again, Hermione felt a stab of regret. Not for what she had done to Lucius; he had gotten exactly what he deserved, and if he had gotten away with actual murder and every other infraction he had allegedly committed, he could certainly get away with an unauthorized Portkey, particularly one made of his own item into his own house. 

No, Hermione's regret was for her own sake. A clumsier, less effective break-in would have endeared her to him far more than a manipulation so expert, it was worthy of Lucius himself. Of course, how could she possibly know what lay hidden in his attic, or his past? Now he was angry, resentful, and although he would never admit it to her, likely fearful as well. Normally, this would not bother Hermione in the slightest, as it was violently against her nature ever to dumb herself down, and Lucius was responsible for his own behavior. However, now it was a problem as the malevolent blend of emotions he must surely be feeling for her now hardly suggested baring his soul's deepest, darkest secrets to her. 

As it currently stood, Hermione would count herself lucky if Lucius touched her at all tonight. It was a shame, as the awesome thrill of power she had felt in besting him so completely had actually started to turn her on. It was one of those unsettling moments where she realized that they were similar in certain ways, excited by exercising their power over others and by winning. Cautiously optimistic, Hermione took off her sneakers and socks, followed by her pull-over and her capris. _Oh well, the worst he could say is no,_ she thought as she folded everything and made a nice, neat pile under the couch. 

She kept her wand out and twirled it idly in her fingers as she waited. 

"Do you truly believe you'll still need that tonight, Miss Granger?" 

Hermione turned suddenly. She hadn't heard him come back in. She placed her wand carefully on her stack of clothes and then stood. Once again, Lucius closed the door. He turned back towards her. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Everything settled, then?" she asked.

"For the time being," Lucius answered her, his voice cool. 

Hermione stood and walked slowly towards him. "Well, do you still want to...?" 

"Oh, I think so," he replied, again giving her a once-over. "After all, you went to all this trouble." His voice carried a bitter note. He inclined his head towards the other end of the room. "This way."


	13. 38: Lovemaking; 39: Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione asks Lucius for a second chance, after which, Hermione discovers another of Lucius' secrets, one he immediately shuts her out of, making the claws and the fangs come out in both of them. After they've both calmed down, to atone, Lucius confides in Hermione a disturbing aspect of his past, one to make her glad to be Muggle-born. At the end, Hermione finally agrees to disclose to Lucius the truth of her first break-in. 
> 
> _"For doing precisely what I asked in breaking into my house without getting caught, you deserve to be rewarded," he said, moving his hands up to her face and tilting it up towards his. Hermione closed her eyes, waiting. "And for ruthlessly deceiving me and framing me, you deserve to be punished," he finished, slipping his hands into her hair and gripping hard, not enough to hurt, but to where she knew he meant business, but there he paused, also waiting..."I know what_ I _would choose for you," Lucius then said, ice in his voice, "but my ambivalence or any other feeling I may have regarding this matter is immaterial, because yes, technically you did win. So, which of the two choices do you think it should it be?" Lucius finished._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secrets, secrets, secrets and lies. Why must their lovemaking go so horribly wrong??? Oh yes, because they are oil and water. Cobra and mongoose. Slytherin and Gryffindor, if you will. And I get a little angsty with Lucius, it's true. I believe in my icy, twisted heart that he had a thoroughly pathological upbringing, which is at least partially what informs his cuddly personality...Welcome to my headcanon, in any event. 
> 
> There might be a longer gap between this chapter and the next, just FYI. I need to write some new content, which could take more than my usual watch-setting 3-6 days. Fair warning. There's more to come, there is more already written, like a five-digit word count already willed into existence, but I need to organize it and flesh it out a little.

CHAPTER 38: LOVEMAKING

Lucius crossed the room and opened another door, holding it for Hermione. She walked past him into an adjoining bedroom. On the floor were marble floor tiles, alternating in a giant chessboard pattern. The bed was a dark, mahogany four-poster with white cotton sheets. Everything in the room was either black or white, statuary, furniture, everything. The room was lit with candles against the deepening dusk that now barely showed through the white sheer curtains. Hermione stopped on a black tile next to the bed. Across the room, Lucius closed the door, and then joined her, stopping on a white tile.

"So, what do I win?" Hermione asked, smiling tentatively.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "The bragging rights you have claimed for yourself over me aren't enough?" 

Hermione shrugged. "I did what you asked and you never stipulated how I was to go about doing it. Now, I wouldn't blame you if you felt at the very least ambivalent about my morally questionable methods, but even you have to admit that I deserve the win and its subsequent bragging rights." She attempted to say it as a neutral statement of fact, without gloating: she had thankfully gotten it out of her system and she now simply wanted to do what she had come to Malfoy Manor to do in the first place. Also, she couldn't imagine Lucius hadn't learned his lesson after this one.

Lucius' face was inscrutable as he ran his hands up Hermione's bare arms. At least he was willing to touch her; that was a start. "You'd like to know what you deserve?"

"Please," Hermione said. 

"For doing precisely what I asked in breaking into my house without getting caught, you deserve to be rewarded," Lucius said, moving his hands up to her face and tilting it up towards his. Hermione closed her eyes, waiting. "And for ruthlessly deceiving me and framing me, you deserve to be punished." He slipped his hands into her hair and gripped hard, not enough to hurt, but to where she knew he meant business, but there he paused, also waiting. Hermione opened her eyes and saw the Dark Mark just on the edge of her peripheral vision. "I know what _I_ would choose for you," Lucius continued, ice now in his voice, "but my ambivalence or any other feeling I may have regarding this matter is immaterial, because yes, technically you did win. So, which of the two choices do you think it should it be?"

Hermione thought for a moment. Clearly, Lucius wanted to punish her, but tonight was definitely not the night for it. One look in Lucius' eyes was all it took to convince Hermione that he might not be able to rein in his wrath enough to make it a safe decision for either of them. Rather, it was a night for slowing it down, healing the breach, dialing in Lucius' anger, and perhaps even regaining a bit of his trust, even if she didn't get any further information out of him. Hermione untied the tie of his robe. "Oh, you should definitely reward me," she answered. Lucius' hands relaxed and dropped back down. Hermione pushed his robe off his shoulders and it slipped to the floor. "With your sweetest, most tender, most vanilla... _lovemaking_ ," she whispered, even though she knew he would bristle at the very word. 

She watched Lucius' reaction to see how he would take her decision. His jaw tightened for just a moment, but he said nothing, a fact that Hermione attributed to centuries of good breeding that mandated that, as a pureblood aristocrat, he take his loss graciously. Also, she imagined that knowing he was going to be able to have her either way softened the blow also. "Very well," he said tightly. 

Hermione smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not saying _never_ , I'm just saying _not now_." She took his hand and led him to the bed, where he sat on the edge, looking down. "If it would make you feel better, no one has ever made love to me, yourself included. It'll be like taking my virginity all over again." 

Lucius half-smiled, his long hair partially obscuring his face. "Not exactly."

Hermione stood in front of him and now she was the one to use her hand to tilt his face up to hers. She stroked his hair gently, letting the platinum strands slip through her fingers. "Yes, exactly." She sighed deeply. "We need a second chance, Lucius, both of us. Think of tonight as an opportunity to treat me the way that you would have that first night, had I come to you out of pure desire. Since the exam, pure desire was always my intention for _this_ night, before gauntlets were thrown and conditions issued. I wanted _you_ tonight, nothing more, nothing less." 

Without even meaning to, Hermione closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, her heart aching more than it had any right to. For the first time since the exam, it dawned on her that the reason she had wanted to hurt Lucius as badly as she did was because his condition for seeing him tonight had hurt her. "Please tell me that I can still have you, without any more games," she whispered before opening her eyes once more and drawing away, keeping one hand on his face still. 

Lucius wouldn't meet her eyes. _Merlin's beard,_ Hermione thought, _am I seeing actual humanity, or even remorse?_ It was too unbelievable. Well, he had the perfect opportunity to make it up to her if he was willing to man up for it. She knew how to find out for sure. Taking a chance, she lowered her mouth onto his, all while reflecting how insane their relationship was that they had never actually kissed. After a heartbeat, he kissed her back. 

Hermione's heart turned over. Lucius ran his hands up the backs of her legs, her rear end, her waist, drawing her in. She eased herself onto him, straddling him, without breaking. Her hands moved unhurriedly over his shoulders, up the back of his neck, into his hair. She opened her mouth under his, feeling him slip his tongue into her mouth. She greeted it with her own. 

He lay back, pulling her onto him. Hermione moved down to his neck, kissing under his jaw, his ear, and then down to his collarbone and across to the other side and back up, coming back to his mouth. She felt his cock harden between her legs and she moved herself up and down on it slowly, feeling the dampness from herself on her underwear, as her body readied itself for him. She wanted him inside of her, but she knew that the delay would just make it all the sweeter when it did happen and she had learned enough to wait. 

Hermione sat up on him and slowly drew her satin nightgown over her head and tossed it onto the floor. She leaned over him again and kissed him. Lucius moved his hands up her bare back. Hermione moved down his neck once again. She carefully climbed off of him as she worked her way down over his chest, kissing, down to his abdomen, following the lines of the serpents. When she got to his waist, she stopped. 

She added her hands in now, over his clothes, moving in close to his cock without actually touching it, just around it, outlining it. She looked at him, making eye contact. Lucius had his hands behind his head, watching her intently. He wasn't smiling, just waiting, his breathing coming rapidly. Hermione slowly undid the drawstring and took his trousers down. He lifted his hips and she took them off completely, letting them join her nightgown on the floor. 

She moved between his legs and ran her hands up the insides of his legs and then back down, as she had at graduation. She lowered her mouth onto his cock once again, this time kissing in addition to sucking, licking. As Lucius had taught her the second time they had been together, Hermione took her time, starting in slowly. At the base, she kissed the sensitive skin between his cock and his thigh, and then around to the other side, then back up again to take his cock in her mouth. To his credit, Lucius made no stinging remarks about making sure he had his wand as Hermione went down on him. In fact, he was remaining uncharacteristically quiet this time.

Hermione then added in her hand, using it in conjunction with her mouth, again, not rushing. After a moment, she took her mouth off of him, just using her hand. She kissed slowly over his hips, down to where they made a V-shape with his cock and then back up the other side. She licked briefly at the head of his cock and then, once again taking the lead from what he had said about getting creative, lowered her nipple over him and rubbed it on the head of his cock, moving it back and forth and in a circle. Lucius moaned. She repeated the entire sequence on the other side, licking the head of his cock and then moving her nipple against it, which was electrifying for her as well. 

Hermione took him back into her mouth once more, and then moved back up his abdomen and torso, back up his neck, jaw, throat and finally kissing him on the mouth once again. She eased out of her underwear and tossed them down with the rest of their clothes. Now, she lay back and Lucius sat up. He looked at her for a moment, her face, her breasts, down and then back up again. He put his hair over one shoulder, as she had done and kissed her. His hands moved under her jaw, behind her neck, and into her hair. 

He repeated what she had done to him, kissing down her jaw and her neck. He moved his hand over her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb. She moaned. He kissed over her chest and took her nipple in his mouth, while his hand found her other nipple, squeezing, massaging. Then he switched sides. Hermione's desire pulsed between her thighs; every sensitive part seemed to be swollen with the need to be touched, to be filled. 

As if anticipating this, Lucius moved his hand slowly down her belly and between her legs. Hermione spread her legs apart slightly. He massaged the outside of her sex with his fingers, applying pressure just to the outside of her clitoris. He kissed her on the mouth again, his tongue touching hers and Hermione found that she was glad he had decided that kissing her was acceptable, because he was as good at that as he was at everything else. He moved his fingers to part her labia, this time finding her clitoris in earnest. Hermione spread her legs more and felt her buttocks tightening as she moved along with him. 

His mouth traveled down her neck once more, over her collarbone, between her breasts, down her abdomen. He drew his hand away from her so he could maneuver himself between her legs. As she had last time, Hermione used her own hands to spread herself for him, hoping that he planned on using his mouth on her.

Lucius did not let her down, nor did he make her ask for it. He kissed her in the same place she had kissed him, the sensitive skin between thigh and outer labia and then moved over and kissed her sex. He used his tongue on her clitoris, moving back and forth, alternating with licking and sucking. Hermione's breath was coming faster now. She wasn't sure if he was going to let her come this way this time or not but it didn't really matter; it mostly just felt really good and she let herself enjoy it for what it was. 

He added in his fingers, caressing the outside of her pussy initially without going in. He just touched her gently. Once again, he did nothing to make her work for it, just delayed long enough to build her anticipation without tormenting her. Hermione then groaned as his fingers finally went into her. Lucius moved them in and out of her, sliding smoothly against her sensitive walls, building up her pleasure gradually, all the while moving his tongue over her clitoris. Her inner thigh muscles tightened as he brought her closer, increasing his pace incrementally. 

Before she got too close, Lucius slowed and then stopped. Hermione drew her knees up and spread her legs all the way. He knelt between them and rubbed the head of his cock up and down on her clitoris. She moved with him, waiting. He slowly pushed into her and she moved her hands up over his hips and onto his lower back as he pulled back and pushed in again. She brought her hips up to meet his, helping to create friction. 

Hermione moved her hands down onto his rear, feeling the muscles move underneath the surface of his skin as he pushed into her over and over. He breathed faster as he picked up the pace. Before either of them came, Lucius pulled out of her and sat back.

"Problem?" Hermione asked, propping herself up on her elbows. 

Lucius shook his head, catching his breath. He sat up and stretched his legs out. Still without speaking, he beckoned to her. She closed her legs and sat up as well, before crawling over to him. Once again, she took his cock in her mouth. He tasted now of her. After a brief moment, she got up and placed one leg on either side of him, before easing down onto his cock. 

They were now face-to-face, certainly the most intimate they had ever been. Hermione kissed him on the mouth again as she moved up and down on him. Lucius slipped his hands up her back once again as he kissed her back. She moved faster, her pleasure increasing each moment. She moved her hands over his shoulders once again up the back of his neck and into his hair. She was right on the cusp, and now she moved quickly, almost violently; he bit her lower lip gently and it was just the right stimulation to push her over the edge. As her orgasm consumed her, Hermione wondered at the sounds coming out of her; she seemed to have no control over any of it, but for once, that didn't bother her: she simply enjoyed the ride. 

When she had finished, Lucius grabbed her under her rear end and without pulling out of her, rolled her onto her back once again, moving slightly for leverage. They were both now slick with sweat from their efforts and the warmth of the night. Hermione drew her knees up and as Lucius had done the day of her NEWT, he used his hands under them and pushed into her deep, increasing his pace. Hermione grabbed the loose sheet under her hands to anchor herself as Lucius drove into her hard before coming himself. 

He pulled out of her and Hermione relaxed her legs down. In fact, her entire body felt heavy and tranquil. Lucius sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to her. He bent down to reach his clothes on the floor, his hair slipping over one shoulder. As he did, Hermione did a double take. For the first time since that fateful night in the hospital wing, she saw his back tattoo and this time the myriad candles in the room, as well as her closer proximity gave her a perfectly clear look. Once again, the Malfoy motto _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ faced her, but Hermione's heart dropped as she saw why the words looked distorted. 

Three giant parallel scars ran through the exquisitely inked words, making them difficult to read. Running in a series along each side of all three were hundreds of evenly spaced dots, as if from sutures or staples; in other words, Muggle healing. In fact, Hermione knew that the scars wouldn't even have been there had the healing been magical. Also of note, the lowest scar was different than its elder brothers. Where the top one and the middle were perfectly parallel, the third ran even with them only until the _p_ in _Semper_ , where it then took a sharp dive underneath Lucius' right scapula before tapering off into nothing. Hermione gasped as she realized that Lucius had been tortured. 

Lucius sat back up and put his hair back over his shoulders with one hand. "What?" he asked her.

"What happened to your back?" Hermione's voice sounded hoarse as she suddenly felt her throat was dry. 

Lucius twisted back towards her. He ran his hand up her thigh and smiled at her, although his eyes were cold. "I slipped in the bathroom," he answered. "In Azkaban."

"No, you didn't," Hermione argued. Lucius hadn't given her a calculated, well-crafted response, it was a lie so obvious that it insulted her intelligence, delivered like a casual backhand. In fact, Hermione felt like he had doused her in ice water.

"Were you there?" he asked. 

"No, I wasn't, but--"

"Then you have no idea, do you?" Lucius took his hand off of her and turned once again so he faced away from her. 

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that slipping in the bathroom perfectly transected your family motto not once, but three times?" Hermione could feel her ire rising. 

Lucius stood and pulled his trousers back on. He faced her once more and tied the drawstring. "Actually, it makes no difference whether you believe me or not. The simple fact is that it's not your business." 

"Well, _that_ didn't take long," Hermione retorted. She hopped off the bed and hurriedly put her nightgown and underwear back on, squaring off with him. 

"What didn't?" Lucius asked.

"The wall you just put back up," Hermione answered shortly. "Didn't you see it? I sure did. You can tell me the truth, you know. It's not as if I can tell anyone else." 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "So you wish to be friends with me now?"

Hermione laughed mirthlessly. "It wouldn't matter if I did; apparently, it's an impossibility." 

"Says the witch who stole my wand for the express purpose of misleading me and framing me while my cock was in her mouth, all under the pretense of being my lover."

Hermione shook her head. "Do you know I'm not even sorry about that? I will say this though: being a Slytherin and having a victim complex go together like bowtruckles and wand trees. My ruse was something you brought on yourself. Someone told me once that life is going to continue to hand the same lessons to you over and over again until you learn them."

" _You're_ going to give me life advice?" Lucius asked derisively.

"No, but perhaps I should. The lesson here is not to underestimate me, and yet you just can't seem to help yourself. You continue to push me; I can only hope that this time I pushed you back hard enough to get your attention, although one would think that all the other times I did it before would be enough. Apparently not." Hermione sighed. "All I wanted to do was see you. Correction: all I wanted was you. When we agreed to do this, whatever _this_ is," she gestured at both of them, "you said, and I quote, that it was going to be 'no pain, only pleasure.' You spoke clearly of breaking barriers and eliminating variables but as it turns out, there are more now than there have ever been."

"I lied, Miss Granger, as I so often do," Lucius said.

Hermione folded her arms. "I know you were lying; I even knew it then. No relationship is that simple, particularly one as polarized as ours. But you're still making me jump through hoops, and why? Against all possible reason or good judgment, I agreed to become your mistress, so why the tests? I said I wanted to be with you, which is initially what you said you wanted, nothing more. You responded by telling me to break into your house. Again. What did you think was going to happen? You probably thought I would make a bad job of it. Well, guess what? I didn't. In your arrogance, you seem to have missed that I'm actually good at this." Hermione's voice had risen in pitch and volume and she had unfolded her arms and now found her hands clenched into fists as her anger came to a head. "And if I say that I want you, despite what it's already cost me, you still insist on testing me, also forgetting that you've already won several times."

Lucius shook his head. "You're missing the point, Miss Granger. Why did I make you break in?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "To watch me flail around, I imagine. That's always good for a laugh, right? Also, it's good for that Erumpet-sized ego of yours, to make me work so very hard for your cock; that seems to be your _modus operandi_." Hermione could actually feel her blood pressure rising. 

"You could have gotten out of it easily." Lucius' voice was quiet. 

"How?" Hermione spat.

"I told you once already, but I'll tell you once more, so great is my patience with you," Lucius said through a clenched jaw. "As previously stated, all you would have had to do is tell me how you broke in the first time."

Hermione smiled coldly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? That I expose every single weakness to you, every vulnerability, grant you every advantage..."

Lucius returned her cold smile with one of his own. "...again making it just about you. It's just _precious_ how you think you're my biggest threat." His voice contracted around the word like a boa constrictor on its prey. 

Hermione sat back down on the bed, shoulders slumping in defeat. She looked away from him and drew her knees up protectively. "Oh god," she whispered. "You-Know-Who. You want to keep You-Know-Who out." Although she didn't tell him, she realized she never would have drawn that conclusion without her discoveries of the evening. 

Lucius now folded his arms and stared imperiously down at her. "Yes, among others. I'd give you house points for Gryffindor, but there seems to be little point now that you've graduated. However, you may content yourself in lording it over me, that you have the cunning and magical aptitude to to break into my house and then vindictively hold that information to yourself, far longer than you needed to. What you have failed to realize is that my enemies are both numerous and dangerous and, despite everything that you have done against me..." he sighed deeply and sat back down on the bed, turning to face her, "I don't count you among them." 

Hermione looked back at him. She felt sorry, but at the same time, she wanted to shake him. "Why in Merlin's name didn't you tell me that?" she asked softly. 

"Because you've made it abundantly clear in numerous ways that you don't want to be friends, and even more clear that I can't trust you." He reached out and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

Hermione met his eyes again. "The cost of being friends with you so far has been steeper than I can afford." 

Lucius smiled. "And what, exactly, has it cost you?"

Hermione sighed. "The episode with the Weasley twins comes to mind. It was fun for you because you hate the Weasleys and you're as mean as a snake, but it was sort of bleak and sad for me to have to deceive my friends, Fred and George, as well as Ginny." Hermione let her legs relax. "I didn't tell you this, but the night of the ball, before we, excuse me, _you_ intimidated the twins, Ginny covered for me even though she knew damned well I was with you. She hates you with every fiber of her being and she still lied to her brothers' faces, and lied well, far better than I would have." 

Hermione felt pricking behind her eyes and breathed for a moment so as not to embarrass herself by crying in front of him again. She hadn't realized how lonely she had been since fracturing her friendship with Ginny. She had even kept her distance with Ron and Harry since everything had started back in May. "I'm keeping this huge secret for you, for us, and in so doing, am losing my friends, one by one, and hardly gaining a friend in you, so yes, it has already cost me and will likely continue to do so."

"Is it worth it to you?" Lucius asked.

Hermione massaged her forehead with one hand, realizing suddenly that she was exhausted. "You already know the answer to that. I'm still here, aren't I?" she answered finally. "I still jump through your ridiculous hoops, doing whatever it takes to show up and touch you and kiss you and attempt to be your lover and I'll continue to do all of that, but not at the cost of my self-respect, or what few friends I still have." 

Lucius looked up. "Then I'm going to teach how to bend your Unbreakable Vow."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going to break my Vow. Unlike you, I don't break my word." 

"Tonight might not be the best night to pretend that you still have the moral high ground and besides, I said _bend_ , Miss Granger, not _break_." 

"All right, I'll bite. How?"

Lucius smiled. "Later," he said.

Hermione sighed, annoyed. "Of course," she said. She got up off the bed. 

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger, I don't mean much later," he said. "Meet me in the drawing room in 20 minutes, if you would be agreeable." He shrugged back into his robe. "You may freshen up in there if you wish." Lucius gestured to another door on the opposite side of the bed, and then turned and left through the drawing room, leaving Hermione alone.

CHAPTER 39: AFTERMATH

Hermione scowled at the door through which Lucius had just exited. Everything escalated so quickly with them. She wondered if that would ever go away, or get better. Somehow she doubted it. If only he didn't make everything so difficult. Of course, Lucius was likely thinking the same about her, possibly at the exact same moment. Hermione walked around the bed and went through the door that Lucius had indicated. It led into a bathroom, with a bath already drawn, steaming and waiting for her. Gratefully, Hermione stripped once again and climbed in. She relaxed into the hot water, letting the feeling of post-coital peace settle back on her once again. Her eyes closed. She wasn't one for pretending much, such as entertaining the fantasy that the two of them had actually made love, but she still felt a glow.

The fact that Lucius made her feel good had always complicated everything else, from the very first time. Each time they had been together had been surprising, and as Lucius had promised, unbelievably pleasurable. However, each time she thought she might be getting somewhere, he pulled the rug out from underneath her. Perhaps she should just have sex with him and forget everything else, just turn off her brain and her emotions and focus on her body. Certainly it would be simpler. 

On the other hand, they were together in the first place because of who they were as people; it had transcended simple lust a long time ago, if it had ever really been just about that. Terrible as he was, the simple fact was that Lucius was rich and powerful, so he could have anyone, and what's more, he knew it. But he had gone for her in the first place because she was Head Girl, a virgin, Muggle-born, young, and corruptible. Hermione found that if she was really honest with herself, she had gone for him because he represented absolute rebellion: dangerous, powerful, forbidden, and thoroughly evil. 

The other reason was because Lucius had something that Hermione thought she needed, but she realized in hindsight, the silver dragon blood had only ever been a convenient excuse, subtext for the underlying truth. She wanted him; as Lucius had said the night she rescued Ginny, it really _had_ been that straightforward, and his wanting her back had fanned the flames. Their initial encounter wasn't even totally Ginny's fault; she was just doing what she did best: perceiving what other people missed and giving it a name. Lucius and Hermione's glance at each other in the quad before they ever even spoke had been brief, but Ginny had caught it, seen it for what it was, and simply ran with it. The trade had been the first thing to complicate what had initially been quite clear-cut, and their whole relationship had only increased in complexity since.

This made Hermione think of the three things she had stumbled upon tonight: the file, the memory, and the scars. She was now convinced that all three were somehow connected, but Lucius had made it clear that they represented a part of him that was off limits to her. Hermione sighed. It was frustrating that Lucius insisted on driving the wedge between them by not disclosing certain things to her, and by refusing to tell her, possibly ever. At the same time, she had to admit that she had not made it easy for him to trust her, but if he never would, what were they even doing? She washed off as she thought. Just because Lucius wouldn't talk didn't mean Hermione wouldn't find out, and she had to find out. Unfortunately, it wouldn't happen tonight, but at some point she would figure out a way into that memory. Lucius didn't have to give her another test, she had made one by herself. 

Hermione looked at her fingers. They were pink and wrinkled and she realized she had probably spent at least 15 minutes, if not longer, in the bathtub, just mulling the problem over. She had a tendency to do that. She stood up and stepped carefully out of the bathtub onto the soft rug. As she dried herself, she looked around and noticed her clothes were gone. A soft, white robe waited for her instead. She shrugged into it and tied it, freeing her hair. 

She walked back through the bedroom, noting that the bed was already made, its sheets changed. She frowned at the implication: that the Malfoys had the most obedient house elves in the history of wizardry, which meant one of two things: either they loved the Malfoys or they were terrified of them, probably the latter, but perhaps both? Hermione had calmed down somewhat on elf rights in the last few years after she found that her efforts mostly angered and offended the docile race, and she didn't have time to dwell on it now anyway. 

She slipped back into the drawing room. More candles had been lit as it was now fully dark outside. Lucius sat on the sofa, waiting for her. He stood as she came in and Hermione noticed that he now held her wand. He turned it around as she came towards her and handed it back to her.

"Thank you," she muttered, putting it in her pocket. 

He nodded. "Have a seat," he said. "Linger a moment."

Hermione sat on the same end of the sofa that she had sat on the night of Ginny's rescue. "I don't have much of a choice, seeing as someone has absconded with my clothing," she said.

Lucius crossed behind the couch and poured a drink. "Your clothing is currently being cleaned, Miss Granger, and will be returned to you in due course." He returned to the couch and handed her the drink he had poured. She shook her head. Lucius sighed, took a sip, and then handed it to her once again. This time, Hermione accepted it. 

She drank, feeling the familiar fire burning pleasantly down her throat and into her abdomen. "You needn't have done it," she said, "I'm sure your servants have enough to keep them busy."

Lucius had turned back to the sideboard to pour himself a drink as well, but he now turned back to look at her. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "They do whatever I tell them to do without complaint. Besides, on closer inspection, although your clothing wasn't wet or muddy, it was frightfully dusty. My house elves obey me and the lady of the house with alacrity, but they also anticipate our needs by keeping our house clean, which prompts me to ask the following question: which part of my estate are they neglecting? I ask only so I can correct them in the future." 

Hermione's heart sped up. Lucius' voice was light, but she knew better than to take what he was saying at face value; he sensed something was up and he was drifting into dangerous territory. He finished and came back over to the couch, sitting opposite her. He looked at her and she forced herself to meet his gaze, noting that it was less than friendly. Lucius then took a drink, maintaining eye contact with her. When Hermione didn't answer, he said, "Also, the Howler said you Portkeyed at 8:30, and yet you were precisely on time at 9:00, so what did you do in a dusty part of my house, for half an hour? Can you possibly recall?"

Hermione cleared her throat, and took another drink to buy herself a few seconds. "I was in a crawlspace above your office," she answered. Her capacity to lie to him was minimal at the best of times, so she opted for the truth. Partially. "I spent a little bit of that time recovering by lying perfectly still on a roof beam. I forgot how much worse Portkeying is to Apparating. And, to be perfectly honest, I spent the rest of that time trying to find the exit. Whatever joiner created that trapdoor is a genius. I played it off casually at the time but in reality, it's a miracle I was punctual at all." She drank again, starting to feel more relaxed, and making her stories come more easily. She toyed with the idea of coming clean about Ginny's file, but thought better of it: in knowing that she knew, Lucius would subsequently shut the conversation down at best, and Obliviate her at worst. The information was far too dangerous and nothing good would come of Hermione disclosing it at this time. 

Lucius maintained his gaze for a heartbeat longer, before breaking and taking a drink himself. Hermione inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, seemingly having satisfied his interrogation. She quickly changed the subject. This was as good a time as any for her to initiate the potentially-awkward contraception conversation. "I have to talk to you," Hermione started.

Lucius looked at her. "We are talking."

Hermione side-eyed him balefully. "About something specific." 

"And that is...?"

Hermione cleared her throat again, suddenly unsure of how to start. "So...ever since the beginning, I've been taking anti-fertility potions before we have sex."

Lucius smiled and shook his head. He stared into his drink. 

"What?" Hermione demanded. "What's so funny?"

"You're always so determined to be in control, aren't you?" he said.

"I call it being responsible. I don't want you to impregnate me, Lucius," Hermione said flatly. "And you've said yourself how much you like coming inside of me, which is how babies are made."

Lucius looked at her, still amused. "Well, you may rest easy, my Muggle-born lover," he said. "I couldn't impregnate you if I wanted to..." He knocked back the rest of his drink quickly and grimaced. "...which I don't. As it happens, I know how to sire a child and have already done so spectacularly: one Draco Malfoy; I believe you two have met..." 

Hermione gave him a withering look. "Yes, Draco is a precision instrument of speed, strength, and magic, refined over centuries of perfect breeding."

Lucius gave her a puzzled look. "What a kind thing to say, Miss Granger. There are times when you genuinely surprise me with your tact."

Hermione sighed, exasperated. She didn't have time to explain the joke and as Fred or George had once told her, if she had to explain why it was funny, it probably wasn't. "Let's try this again, shall we? Why shouldn't I be worried about unwanted pregnancy from you?"

Before answering, Lucius got off the couch, went to the sideboard and poured himself another drink. He walked back to the couch and sat down. "Suffice to say, my father was insistent that I not taint the Malfoy bloodline." He looked into his drink once again, his smile fading into a expressoin of bitterness. "Very insistent," he said, his voice far away. 

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

Lucius' eyes found hers once again. "It's not a story for the Head Girl of Hogwarts, you know," he said.

"Former. And I can handle it," Hermione said, although her voice sounded uneasy, even to herself. If Lucius himself said it was a disturbing story, she couldn't even imagine what it would encompass.

Lucius paused for a moment. His gaze became calculating. "Very well," he finally said, taking a sip of his drink. "I did promise to teach you about Dark Arts, so here's one lesson for you. There is a very old ritual called Purity Descending. When I was younger, more and more pureblood families were diluted or extinguished, and it was rumored that the ritual was coming back into vogue among those families that still existed, as a means of preserving what pureblood lines either still existed and remained unsullied by Muggle blood. Around this time, I was in about my fourth year at Hogwarts, and things about me were starting to change, as they do at that age.

"I started having dreams, fascinating, pleasurable dreams that initially left me unfulfilled, and then...didn't. It did not go unnoticed. To my absolute mortification, a very nosy house-elf by the name of Dobby, who was charged with cleaning my room, made certain discoveries therein and took them to my father, 'out of concern for young Master's health.' Well, my father pulled me aside and had a long talk with me about what that meant, that whether I willed it or not, I now possessed the power to extend the Malfoy line, upward towards the pillar of purity and strength, or downward into the gutter of blood traitorism." 

Hermione took a sip of her own drink, her heart beating faster. She wasn't sure why Lucius was sharing all of this with her, but she didn't dare interrupt him. This was by far the most he had ever opened up to her, almost as if he was atoning for his reserve earlier that evening. 

Lucius took a deep breath and continued. "Despite his dire warnings, my father did not trust me. He saw the way I looked at all witches, at that time indiscriminate of their blood status. Time passed, and then the reports from Hogwarts started. This was before I knew how not to get caught, mind you, and this time in my life informed much of what I know about evasion today. But, as I say, I knew nothing then, and I was caught in the broom closet with Madeleine Bones, under the Quidditch stands with Hazel Vance, in the Prefect's Bathroom with Rhea Norbitt-Jones--actually, no one caught me at that one--but surely you must comprehend the general idea. But it was all Chaser work, never catching the Golden Snitch, if you catch my meaning." 

Hermione did. She said nothing, just looked at Lucius incredulously.

He half smiled at her expression. "Although incidentally, you have all of those witches to thank for my...manual dexterity. Oral as well."

Hermione blushed and looked away.

"Anyway," Lucius continued, "my father knew it was just a matter of time before my cock got involved, and he was terrified that I would accidentally impregnate a witch with a pedigree that he considered unclean. So, shortly after I came of age, he gave me an ultimatum: either I would have to participate in Purity Descending, giving up my own virginity to the ritual, or be transferred to Durmstrang. For me it wasn't really a choice, but I knew nothing of the ritual and I thought, naïvely, how bad could it possibly be? Also, he had drilled into me, from a young age, that nothing transcended the value of family loyalty.

"The following night, when the moon was completely dark, my father took me down to the Malfoy dungeon, where I found, to my dismay, that the ritual would not work without a virginal, female, pureblood counterpart, who happened to be a witch I couldn't stand, and ordinarily wouldn't touch with a ten-foot Beater's bat, and vice versa."

"Who?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

Lucius smiled at her. "Why, a mutual acquaintance, as it happens. One Bellatrix Lestrange, or Black, as she was known then, now conveniently also of age." 

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock.

Lucius noticed and nodded. "My sentiments exactly," he said dryly. "But there she was, lying on the floor, waiting in a circle of salt, with black candles at points north, south, east, and west, with silver dragon blood dotted between them. The place veritably sparked with magic, but Bellatrix looked at me, did a double take, unleashed a generous string of profanity, and would have gotten up, if a look from her father hadn't made her lie back down again, somewhat chastened. My own father noticed and sneered. He turned to me and said, 'I know you won't embarrass me in such a manner, Lucius. Remember, if you close your eyes, she's anyone.' I imagine he thought he was helping, but I wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk away. The only thing that kept me there was not wanting to leave Hogwarts. In that moment, maintaining the purity of the Malfoy line was not even in the equation." 

Lucius shook his head and took another drink. "Such weak sentimentality. In any event, I won't bore you with the details. Bellatrix wanted to be there even less than I did. In the end, she capitulated 'for the good of both lines,' Malfoy and Black. I can fully admit that her consent was questionable at best, fully coerced at worst, which is yet another reason for my iron-clad ethics in this department, as taking her in such a matter was quite reprehensible. 

"Regardless, I closed my eyes as my father had suggested, ignored the fact that all of our parents stood there watching us, and did what I was expected to do as they chanted the dark incantations. I tuned them all out as I pictured the witches I had been with prior to that, those willing and enthusiastic but filthy-blooded ones: their full breasts, their smooth skin, their sparkling eyes, all different, all beautiful, all so present and so grateful, and in that manner, my task became easy. When I climaxed, I spent my seed in the circle beneath Bellatrix, on her now-spilled virgin's blood. The combination sent a chain reaction out from us into the circle and the dragon's blood, generating a massive surge of magical energy, and that power descended upon the two of us, sealing the ritual and ensuring our sterility with any but those with blood as pure as our own."

Hermione could feel that her mouth was still open, her shock apparent on her face. Lucius smiled once more at her. "So, as you can see, your drinking an anti-fertility potion with me is entirely unnecessary." He raised his glass in her direction. " _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ ," he intoned sarcastically, before taking another drink, "And you're quite welcome." Hermione closed her mouth, wondering how intoxicated Lucius had become. Horrific as it was, his story explained a lot. As Lucius had said, it explained why he wouldn't cross the line of consent and it explained at least in part why Bellatrix was such a mess, to say nothing of Lucius. It also made Hermione's own deflowering look downright sweet by comparison.

"Ah," Lucius said, seemingly remembering something, "and as a fascinating footnote, rumor had it that the next two purebloods to participate in Purity Descending following myself and Bellatrix would have been Sirius Black and Bellatrix's sister Andromeda...or so I was told. In full knowledge of this, they both ran away before it could be consummated, a double blow to the Black family."

"But they were cousins," Hermione said, her voice small.

Lucius nodded. "They were indeed, first cousins. Suffice to say, there are certain wizarding gene pools that it's best not to dive into headfirst, lest you risk a fractured skull. Besides, back then, there was not a line the Blacks wouldn't cross to ensure their legacy." He smirked. "Not that it did them much good in the end. Ironically, it was Bellatrix herself who ended it when she killed Sirius, the last male heir of _that_ noble pureblood line." 

"You married a Black," Hermione pointed out.

Lucius glanced at her sharply. "Yes. The smartest and ultimately the bravest one." His voice carried a note of pride. "The one who ensured through her own hand that no one would be able to prize that part of her away and use it." He looked into the candle flame flickering on the table. "Not even me."

Something clicked over in Hermione's mind. _The Cruciatus Curse_ , she thought, a thrill of cold dread entering her abdomen. She only just caught herself from saying it out loud. That was why Lucius had cast it on his own wife while exercising his customary rights as her husband. He wasn't just being cruel, he was punishing her for coming to the marriage bed without that precious, powerful blood, not that it was any sort of excuse for what he did to her. _By her own hand_ , Hermione thought, and perversely, her mind drifted back to using a candle on herself to stimulate her own pleasure. If it worked for Hermione, it would have worked for any other witch too, and that or something like it would have rid Narcissa of that particular vulnerability. _Good for her_ , Hermione though savagely, almost wishing she had thought of it first, although it would have negated her first encounter with Lucius.

They were both silent for a time. Hermione couldn't think of anything to say to him to respond to what he had told her. Maybe there was nothing to say in light of such evil. She decided once again to change the subject. "You spoke of bending an Unbreakable Vow," she started.

"So I did," Lucius said, his voice lighter, relieved that Hermione was taking the conversation in a safer direction. "Cruel as I may seem to you, I have no intention of alienating you from your friends."

"Thank you," Hermione said, looking at him quizically. 

"Seeing as it doesn't benefit me in the slightest," Lucius finished.

"And there it is."

Lucius shrugged. "I'm being honest, Hermione. There is nothing in it for me whatsoever in cutting you off from other people, particularly people you like and trust, other than the logistics of having you live alone, as we've already discussed." 

"So, where does that leave the Vow?"

He smiled slightly. "I purposely built you a loophole."

"Really?"

He turned to her and put one arm on the back of the couch. "Recall for me, if you will, what you promised me the day of the Vow."

"That I wouldn't blackmail you or your family," Hermione answered.

He pointed his finger at her. "That one, I'm afraid, is utterly set in stone, as well it should be based on your history. What else?"

"That I wouldn't share what happened between May 20th and May 25th..."

"Also correct, but fair and binding to every person seated at the table that day, including me. And the last?"

"That I wouldn't talk about our future relationship," she concluded.

"You're close," Lucius said. "But you don't quite have it correctly. Think back to the exact language." 

Hermione frowned as she tried to remember. "Not to disclose details of any future dealings with Lucius Malfoy," she recited.

"'Not to disclose details of any future dealings with Lucius Malfoy,'" he repeated. 

"So what? I still can't talk about you."

"Not me specifically, no. But you can talk to say, Miss Weasley, without actually talking about me. You may speak in generalities and circles, telling everything without telling anything, and neither mentioning a name, nor disclosing any details, as in 'I have a friend who...' As a wizard with healing training and the one who crafted the Vow, I can guarantee that you can do this without pain."

"But that's so..." Hermione had a hard time coming up with a word. "Dodgy," she finally concluded.

"Yes, it is dodgy. Yes, it will work. I still wouldn't spread it to anyone but Miss Weasley, as the risk increases that you'll let too much slip if you tell too many people. It will work with Miss Weasley because, as you've said, she already knows. That, Miss Granger, is how you bend your Unbreakable Vow." 

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. The other reason, the one that Lucius was playing close to the vest was that he had specifically named Ginny because she knew his other big secret, that he was an ally, at least to the Auror Office. Regardless, being able to talk to Ginny would be hugely helpful as Hermione realized she did want to heal that lost connection with her. She felt a wave of gratitude for Lucius in that moment, but she said nothing, confident that it wouldn't last. 

Lucius did not let her down in this regard. "As for the Weasley twins, they talk a good game, but the truth is, they are both Dark Wizards." 

Hermione laughed. "No they're not," she said. 

"Are you sure? They practice Dark Arts, so by our laws, doesn't that make them Dark Wizards?"

"By what account do they practice Dark magic?"

"Skiving Snackboxes come to mind."

"Now who's being ridiculous? Those things are harmless."

"And yet you attempted to ban them yourself, when you were first a prefect."

"How did you know about that?" 

"I read--"

"My file. Right." Hermione had forgotten about that.

"Anyway, they are deliberately harmful and employ destructive magic, the very definition of Dark Arts."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "But only minimally so. Fred and George tested them personally before they were ever marketed. Each one has an antidote built in, and Fred and George specifically tell customers what one each does, putting the risk on the buyer." 

"If used as intended, yes, but the Weasleys could easily take it one step further by decanting and concentrating just the malady-inducing portions and turning them into powerful poisons."

"Only you would think of something like that," Hermione retorted. 

Now it was Lucius' turn to side-eye her. "I sincerely hope that you're just having a go at me and that you're not actually that naïve."

Hermione gave him a withering look. "They're not selling them as such anyway."

"And how, pray tell, can you be so absolutely certain of that?"

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn't honestly answer him. She had been ensconced in Hogwarts and the Weasley twins had left and opened the joke shop two years ago. In fact, aside from seeing them occasionally at the Weasleys' house over the summer, and then again at the ball, she had no idea what they had been doing. They were fun to be around, and Hermione had called them _friends_ to Lucius, but the truth was that they had never been close. Their values were far too opposed to hers, and for their part, they had never trusted her, and with their last conversation, that was extremely unlikely ever to change. In retrospect, as Lucius had pointed out, Hermione had tried to bust them multiple times while they were first trying out the snack boxes, specifically because of their damaging effects.

Lucius continued. "The back door of their business opens onto Knockturn Alley, and, as a business owner and thus someone who frequents Knockturn Alley in the normal course of my day, I can tell you that they are doing a phenomenal trade in these black market toxins, and it all has stemmed from the snack boxes. Look me in the eyes, if you will, and tell me that's not Dark Arts." 

Hermione looked away instead. _Business must be doing spectacularly,_ Lucius had said to the twins the night of the ball. Of course he hadn't meant the joke shop; it was doing well, but Hermione would not put it past the twins to have something going on the side. But Dark wizardry? If they were doing it, they weren't doing it alone. Hermione's head snapped back to Lucius. "You're an investor, aren't you?" she asked. 

"I never suggested that," Lucius answered with a smirk. "Although if someone were to act as a silent partner in such an enterprise, the Weasley twins would be good front men. I'm speaking generally, of course, not specifically."

"Of course." Hermione took another sip of her drink.

"Now, _generally_ , I don't care what people do, seeing as how I have unapologetically practiced Dark Arts myself, but knowing what I know about the Weasley twins, you can imagine the audacity and in fact, the hypocrisy, it took for them to judge you the night of the ball, just for being with me. I found it both vexing and intolerable."

"You are truly my knight in shining armor," Hermione muttered. 

"Believe me, none of them is in a position to judge anyone," Lucius replied. "The affair with Arthur Weasley's flying car was in violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, and if that wasn't appalling enough, it happened while he was heading up the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. I ask you..." he trailed off before looking at Hermione. "Everyone believes that I despise the Weasleys because they're poor or because they're blood traitors, when in fact those aren't the reasons at all, it's that I have found them to be judgmental, narrow-minded hypocrites." 

Hermione smiled once again. She reached out and touched his hand. "You're not going to turn me against the Weasleys, Lucius," she said. "Although I appreciate you coming to my aid the night of the ball." 

He returned her smile. "It was good for you to see and between that and what I just told you, it's a valuable lesson in dealing with Dark Arts. Dark Wizardry is not as absolute as your precious education has led you to believe. The truth is, almost everyone has performed Dark Magic. Dark Magic occurs on a continuum and the spells that made it into the Destructive Magic Limitation Act are not the only destructive magic that exists in our world. The entire, archaic system needs to be re-vamped, as much of it is completely arbitrary. Even 'Light Magic,' if that's even something that exists, can be bent to dark purposes, depending on the context and the intention of the user."

"Like how a counter-jinx is really a jinx that someone wants to use without calling it Dark Arts and thus getting into trouble."

"Precisely. Certainly you must have noticed the love potion versus Imperius curse question on your Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT?" 

"I did." 

"As promised, I have not set eyes on your exam, so kindly tell me, what was your analysis?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You of all people have a lot of nerve asking me that. I think love potions should be outlawed."

"And yet the Weasley twins sell them outright in their store."

"Because they _are_ legal."

"Legal, yes, but not ethical by your interpretation, correct?"

"Yes. The Imperius Curse is unforgivable because it strips away consent; a love potion is no different; it's more specific, yes, but falls into the same category of rendering the victim incapable of saying no, as you yourself have said; even you find them morally questionable."

Lucius raised his glass in her direction. "Hence the hypocrisy." 

"That's rich coming from you," Hermione said.

Lucius shrugged. "I don't consider it hypocritical. Everyone knows I'm a Dark Wizard, and as I've told you, I would never use magical coercion to force anyone into anything sexual. The point is, what Defense Against the Dark Arts fails to teach you is why witches and wizards choose to practice Dark Arts in the first place. More often than you might think, it's not because they're evil or sadistic, or crave power, although these are often contributing factors. No, the motivations are often much more complex than that, and are sometimes downright noble." 

With an uncomfortable twist in her abdomen, Hermione thought of casting Petrificus Totalus on Neville Longbottom in her first year. By the letter of the law, the spell wasn't Dark, but it was potentially destructive as it left him immobile, helpless, vulnerable, and uncomfortable. It had definitely been done without his consent, taken away his will to say no, and yet she had done it for an end that served a greater purpose. "Why the Weasley twins though?" Hermione asked.

"You would have to ask them, but why do you think?"

Hermione sighed. "Well, they grew up poor..." she started. 

"Greed can be a powerful motivator for practicing Dark Arts," Lucius said. "The other piece of it is that people, particularly covetous people, can rationalize anything."

Hermione had to smile at that, as it had applied to both of them at various times. "And like you, they like to see what they can get away with."

"As is pride," Lucius concluded. 

"But they don't enjoy hurting people," Hermione said.

Lucius shook his head. "That doesn't matter in the slightest when Fred and George Weasley callously stand back and let their customers, both legitimate and illicit take the responsibility upon themselves by buying and using their destructive magic. Apathy and negligence can be as damaging as malevolence in the right circumstances." Lucius' voice was bitter as he said this. 

Hermione yawned. It was getting late and the evening had been almost as draining as her last one in Malfoy Manor. "I should really be going," she said, getting up from the couch.

Lucius' eyes followed her. "I'm afraid your clothes aren't ready yet," he said, smiling.

Hermione glared at him in return. "Your magical self has magical servants in your magical house, so your excuse is wafer-thin," she said. "What is it that you really want?"

Lucius stood as well and moved in front of her. "What I've always wanted this evening, Miss Granger: the truth of how you successfully circumvented my wards the first time."

Hermione hesitated. "Do we have to do it tonight?" she finally asked. She found that at this point, there wasn't much of a reason not to tell him other than spite, but now she just wanted to sleep.

"Yes," Lucius said, so sharply that Hermione looked at him, once again finding his gaze less than friendly. "I have been exceedingly tolerant with your reluctance in this matter," he said, his voice low, "but even I have my limits." 

Hermione sighed. "Then I'll truly need my clothes," she said. "Because I'm not going to tell you."

Lucius moved away from her. "Oh, you are making a terrible mistake, Miss Granger," he said, glaring daggers at her.

Hermione smiled. "Calm yourself, Mr. Malfoy. You'll need your clothes as well, preferably ones you don't mind getting a little mussed," she replied mildly. "I'm not going to tell you because I'm going to show you."


	14. 40: Constitutional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione shows Lucius exactly how she broke in the first time. Before they head out, Lucius gives her a taste of what punishment at his hands would be like. While traversing the park, Lucius reveals the truth of the Final Knife. Hermione accidentally creates trouble for Lucius by unwittingly summoning an unwanted guest. Hermione is forced to act quickly to extricate Lucius from a precarious situation. 
> 
> _"It is not in my nature to be forgiving," Lucius said. "I'm simply storing up all of your transgressions for a later date, at which point I will be expecting your full repentance for each and every one." He stroked the front of her throat, running his fingers over the soft skin there, and as he did, Hermione felt her breath catch. "Oh, you'll be penitent, Miss Granger, with_ every _part of your willing body...and as for me, I have no intention of being merciful. So, by all means, keep testing me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That thing where you butt-dial someone you didn't really want to talk to on the phone...

CHAPTER 40: CONSTITUTIONAL

Lucius took out his wand and did a quick figure in the air with it, one Hermione was not familiar with. Within seconds, one of his house elves materialized at the door. "Fetch Miss Granger's clothes," Lucius ordered. The house elf swept a low bow and crept back out of the room without a word. Hermione watched him go. In her time at Malfoy Manor, Hermione had noticed two things about Lucius' house elves: first, that they were remarkably silent, which was a shock after spending time with Dobby, who loved to talk, and second, that they never turned their backs on Lucius. She would have asked Lucius about these aspects, but suspected that she wouldn't like the answer. For all she knew, Lucius had cursed them into silence after the embarrassment that was Dobby's unwitting emancipation. Hermione decided that she was better off not knowing. 

When the house elf had left, Lucius put his wand away. "That was unkind, Miss Granger," he said.

"What?" Hermione asked, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "It's _much_ easier to show you..."

Lucius shook his head. "I was ready to curse you just now..." he said, almost with regret. 

Hermione spread her hands in supplication. "Give it a go," she said. Now she smiled, content in the knowledge that Lucius could not do it. "I'm certain you know some choice curses, some truly _punishing_ ones." 

Lucius moved closer to her and reached up to touch her face. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and then, opening his hand, ran his thumb over her mouth. "That's right," he whispered. "Keep pushing your luck, Miss Granger." Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the smile slide from her face as she let his voice hypnotize her. He slid his hand down to the front of her throat, simply letting it rest there as he closed the distance to speak directly in her ear. "Continue to provoke my wrath if you think it's wise: it'll make punishing you all the sweeter when the time comes." His lips closed on her earlobe and for a second, Hermiione felt his teeth on this extremely sensitive part of her, not hard, just giving her that thrill of threat without the actual pain of it. She drew a shaky breath as she felt her body respond, even knowing that they were done for the evening with physical pleasure. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered back. 

"Are you asking for my forgiveness?" Lucius continued to nip at her ear, flicking his tongue over her earlobe. 

"Yes," Hermione said. 

"Well, I'm not about to grant it," he replied. "It is not in my nature to be forgiving. I'm simply storing up all of your transgressions for a later date, at which point I will be expecting your full repentance for each and every one." He stroked the front of her throat, running his fingers over the soft skin there, and as he did, Hermione felt her breath catch. "Oh, you'll be penitent, Miss Granger, with _every_ part of your willing body...and as for me, I have no intention of being merciful. So, by all means, keep testing me." One hand still on her throat, he ran his tongue from her earlobe up the crescent of her ear's helix, making Hermione shiver. 

"Yes, sir," Hermione whispered, coming close to regretting her choice tonight that had opposed this scintillating form of chastisement. 

"That's my good girl," Lucius said silkily, coming away from her and dropping his hand. 

Mercifully, at that moment, the house elf came back in with a neatly folded pile of Hermione's clothes. He stopped in front of her, took a knee and held them out to her, his head bent. "Thanks," Hermione said, reaching down and taking them. The house elf stood once more, bowed and retreated again. Hermione turned to Lucius, who had folded his arms across his chest and was waiting for her.

"What?" she asked. "You should probably go and get dressed as well, if we're going to do this..."

Lucius smirked. "You first," he said. 

Hermione frowned at him. "You just saw me naked," she said. "There's nothing new here."

"Humor me, if you would."

Hermione shrugged. She undid the tie of the robe she wore and let it fall to the floor, once again standing naked in front of him. Lucius looked at her up and down, his gray eyes resting finally on her breasts. "I see the idea of punishment agrees with you," he said. 

Hermione looked down, finding her nipples hard. She hurriedly grabbed her bra and put it on. "It's cold in here," she said defensively. It wasn't cold at all, but Lucius was acting his insufferable, gloating self about turning her back on.

"Are you telling me, or telling yourself, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"Will you just go and get dressed, please?" Hermione replied, now thoroughly annoyed with him. "I don't want this to take all night."

Lucius looked at her for a few seconds more and then, without another word, left her to get dressed in peace. Hermione was just lacing up her sneakers when Lucius came back in, dressed as she was in head-to-toe black, this time in boots instead of shoes. As he walked in, Hermione saw him put a folding knife in a pocket. She looked at it curiously. Anything that they might encounter would surely be cowed by Lucius' wand. Not only was the weapon small, it was also not the Final Knife so it was a strange choice of armament. Then it occurred to Hermione that the reason that Lucius had it was not to spill the blood of what they might encounter, but to spill his own pure Malfoy blood as needed, against any number of different security measures activated or deactivated by that same blood.

Hermione stood back up and put her wand in her pocket. Lucius had done the same. "Are you ready?" Hermione asked.

Lucius gestured, open palm to the door. "Lead the way, Miss Granger."

"We're going to work backwards," she explained before leaving. "You already know about the bird. Draco showed me the panel that held the potion circuits, and which one would trigger the alarm to your office. You already know that we used the bird to interrupt the circuit and trigger the alarm at a fortuitous time. Obviously we used it as a diversion to get Ginny out and get Draco in." She frowned suddenly. "Whatever happened to my bird, anyway?"

"Draco took it when he left," Lucius said nonchalantly. "He seemed to fancy it and I imagined that because you left it in my house, you intended for one of us to keep it, as a gift for our hospitality, perhaps."

Hermione didn't want to argue with him, knowing even at the outset that it was going to be sacrificed to the greater good; she had merely been curious. Letting it go, she stood, squared her shoulders, and led Lucius through the silent house, first to the dining room, and then through to the kitchen. She kept her mouth shut about what had happened in the dining room, seeing no benefit in betraying Lucius' own wife's role in the break-in. The kitchen was dark, and a few house elves snoozed in front of the cold fireplace, just as they would at Hogwarts, but on a smaller scale. 

Moonlight streamed in the windows, making it easy to see, even without inside light. Hermione crossed to the corner and opened the wooden door. The stone stairs descended into blackness, and now Hermione took out her wand. " _Lumos,_ " she said. She walked down, confident Lucius would follow her. In the root cellar, she moved to the center, where the iron ring stood in the middle of the wooden trapdoor. " _Nox,_ " Hermione said, plunging the room into darkness. "If you want to see what I'm doing, I would suggest lighting your own wand," Hermione said.

As Lucius cast Lumos, Hermione crouched down, grabbed the iron ring, and using her legs, pulled the door open, exposing the earthen passage. 

"Do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?" she whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Lucius asked in his normal voice, albeit tinged with slight amusement. "You're not trying to evade me this time; I'm standing right in front of you." 

Hermione looked around. He had a point. "I'm trying to be considerate of your sleeping house elves," she replied.

"As if they'd say anything," Lucius reponded contemptuously. 

Hermione pursed her lips.

Lucius sighed in exasperation and dropped his chin down before smiling indulgently and looking back up at her. "Hermione, I know a great deal more about my house elves than you do: they won't care what we're doing, and if they did, they wouldn't dare to question it..." Hermione went to say something, but Lucius continued: ... _and_ if it really concerns you that much, bear in mind that they are two rooms away, through two closed doors, so your consideration, yet again, is minute and misplaced." He dropped his voice dramatically. "You don't have to whisper." 

"Fine," Hermione said, giving up. She gestured to the tunnel. "Once again, do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?" she asked. "The passage comes out on the far side of the formal gardens, just on the edge of the park proper, about 300 meters south."

Lucius looked appraisingly at the tunnel. "We can do it the easy way," Lucius said. 

Hermione dropped the trapdoor back in place and they went back the way they came. This time Lucius led the way, wand out. At a back door, he cast Nox so he could perform another wand sequence and said an incant before opening the door, presumably dropping a door ward. He walked onto the white flagstones, holding the door for Hermione, who followed. He then closed the door and put the ward back up. 

Lucius then strode down the patio until it turned into a path of white crushed stone. In watching him, Hermione realized just how well Lucius was suited to his surroundings. It was more than just owning the place; the way he moved conveyed that he cared about his ancestral home, its security, and by extension, his family. Hermione felt a surge of respect for him in that moment for taking it so seriously. He took Hermione through the formal garden, past the same topiary, hedges, and arborvitae that she and Draco had passed. At the reflecting pool, Hermione reached out and took Lucius' arm. He stopped and turned. "What?" he asked. She dropped his arm and slipped past him to the statue. There she crouched down and dipped her hand into the water, taking a handful of gillyweed out. It dripped from her hand as she held it out for Lucius to see. 

The moon was behind Lucius, so all she could see was his silhouette nodding at her. "You swam into the dungeon," he said. 

Hermione let the gillyweed fall from her fingers to splash back into the black water, creating striped ripples that reverberated with the moonlight. It was strange retracing her steps, now with the very wizard against whom she was working against the last time. 

"That was dangerous, you know," Lucius said, his voice tight. "I shared that route with Draco long ago, and made it crystal clear to him that it was a last resort, that he was only to use it in an absolute emergency."

Hermione frowned in the dark. "Isn't that what he did?" 

Lucius sighed. "Knowing that Draco chose this particular path with his eyes wide open, I suppose I can concede that he truly was the one to put himself in danger that evening. However, all that seems to be grindylow-infested water under the bridge." 

Hermione smiled. "Or dungeon," she said. 

"Yes, well said, Miss Granger," Lucius said, sounding resigned. He turned and walked through the labyrinthine formal gardens until he passed through the yew hedge and into the more unruly meadow, on his way back towards the treeline. 

As Hermione trailed him, she looked around, this time able to take in her surroundings at leisure. Now she took note of the barns, fields, dovecot, Owlery, and other outbuildings. "Wow, you're sort of set up for anything out here, aren't you?" she asked.

Lucius didn't break his stride. "Malfoy Manor is completely self-sufficient of course, Miss Granger."

"You mean _elf-_ sufficient," Hermione muttered, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Now Lucius did stop. He turned and gave her a look that could have curdled Butterbeer.

Hermione let her smile widen. "I'm not sorry, Lucius, so you'd best keep right on walking."

Lucius sighed in annoyance and turned around, continuing his southward trajectory. Hermione followed him to the edge of the forest, where Lucius then stopped, his form now somewhat hidden by the shadows from the trees. "That's far enough," Lucius said, holding a hand up to stop Hermione as well. "Before we proceed, I need you to agree to do exactly as I say once we pass into the trees."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Because this is my estate, Miss Granger. Thus, many of my very dangerous security measures will only answer to me."

Hermione sighed. "I know," she answered.

"How?" Lucius asked, drawing the word out.

"You'll see."

Lucius paused for a moment. "Very well," he said. "Anyway, if we are to proceed, I'm afraid I must insist upon your strict obedience to my instructions as well as your trust that my goal is not just to ensure the security of my property, but also to ensure your personal safety."

"All right," Hermione said. "I'll do what you tell me to do." 

"Excellent. You've made the right choice." Hermione could hear the smile in his voice, before he cast Lumos and she could see him once again. He looked at her quizzically. "It was quite dark the night you broke in," he observed. "And yet using Lumos would have been imprudent as you wished to avoid detection. How then did you see in the woods?"

"Cat's Eye Potion," Hermione replied.

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Clever," he said. He turned then and walked into the trees, his wand creating a circle of blue light in front of the two of them. Up ahead of them stood the partially ruined kitchen outbuilding. 

Hermione gestured to it. "That's where the tunnel leads," she said, "and how I got from the exterior to the interior without tripping an alarm."

Lucius stopped and turned to her slowly. His illuminated wand tip showed the anger in his face clearly. "And how, pray tell, did you know how to do that?" His voice was quiet, but the ire therein was apparent. 

Hermione swallowed. She didn't want to betray Dobby, but there was little point in hiding; obviously, Lucius already knew the answer. "A house elf told me," she said lamely.

"Which one?"

"You already know," Hermione said, her voice now quiet as well. 

Lucius looked away from her, fuming. "Mark my words, Miss Granger, should Dobby ever leave the sanctuary of Hogwarts..." He didn't finish his sentence, just turned swiftly and moved off deeper into the trees, away from the kitchen. Hermione sighed. Lucius hated Dobby anyway, so there was little more damage she felt she had done in telling Lucius about Dobby's involvement. As Lucius had said, Dobby was safe at Hogwarts anyway.

Ahead of them, the manticore stood, blocking the path. Lucius stopped, looking at it, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "That doesn't belong there," he muttered. "That belongs--" He cut off suddenly and whirled to face Hermione, his face reading shock. "So that's it..." he said. "That was how you sustained your injuries that night, escaping from my manticore." He looked back at the placid statue. What scant shafts of moonlight drifted through the trees made the white marble of the statue almost glow. 

Lucius moved closer, wand out and up. Hermione followed him. "How are you still alive?" he asked, voice full of wonder. He wasn't looking at Hermione, but circling the manticore, being careful of course not to touch it. At the left shoulder joint, he stopped and crouched down to look more closely at the stain of blood splattered there. He stood then and turned back to Hermione. "How did you do it?" he asked. "Whose blood is that?" 

"Yours," Hermione answered. 

"How is that possible?" he asked, running his free hand through his hair. "How could you have possibly known about the manticore, about how to stop it, and obtain my blood pre-emptively?"

Hermione smiled in the dark as at least part of her enjoyed Lucius' rarely-glimpsed incredulity. "I'd love for you continue to believe that I am truly that omniscient, but it's not actually the truth. I pulled it out of the Dementor's Diamond you gave Draco with the express purpose of replacing it with my own and, unbeknownst to me, your blood stayed in my wand. I touched the manticore by accident, and it gave chase. When it tackled me to the ground, I pulled out my wand and cast the first spell that occurred to me, which happened to be the Aguamenti charm. Instead of water, your blood came out and deactivated the magic in the manticore." She sighed again. "I may be clever, but on that one, I was mostly just ridiculously lucky." 

"Yes, you were fortunate indeed," Lucius said, once again circling the manticore. He stopped in front of it. "Many Malfoy enemies have met their end as a result of this particular piece of art. However, we must return it to its proper place. Nox." They both fell into darkness, save for a few mottled splashes of moonlight that drifted down through the leaves above them. "If you would be so kind as to provide the light from here in," Lucius said to her. Hermione got out her wand and cast Lumos in time to see Lucius roll up a sleeve and take the folding knife from his pocket. He whipped it open with a practiced wrist gesture, making the knife snap. "Get ready to run again, Miss Granger," he said, holding the knife over his left forearm, just above the Dark Mark.

"Are you joking?" Hermione asked, her heart in her throat. 

Lucius paused. "Have you been taking my advice in running daily?" he asked, looking at Hermione with consternation. "It may come in handy in about 10 seconds. Just make sure you run in the direction of the Fell Circle, if you would be so kind, so it follows you to the right spot. I'll try and be there on time to de-activate it, but if I'm not..." He sighed with dramatic regret. "Well, it _would_ be a shame, as I was starting to take a fancy to you, but my manticore is _frightfully_ swift..." 

He had said she needed to obey, but this was beyond the pale and he had just told her that her personal safety was a priority. Also, his Vow prevented him from commissioning any associates to harm her, of which the manticore surely was one. "Yes, I've been running, but you _are_ joking, right?"

Lucius smiled. "Yes, I am," he said after a moment. 

"That was unkind, Mr. Malfoy" Hermione replied vehemently. "And a vile abuse of that trust that you spoke up before."

" _Elf-_ sufficient, Miss Granger? I felt I owed you the debt of my own self-amusement," Lucius answered, "And speaking of lessons not yet learned, you should know by now never to expect forgiveness from me, only well-timed revenge." He punctuated the last word by bringing the knife down swiftly over his arm. His breath hissed over his teeth as blood dripped out of the incision he had made. He raised his arm over the statue, this time on the right and let two drops of his blood fall on the smooth, white stone. The manticore slowly started to move and Hermione felt her heart fluttering in her chest with the same panic she had felt the first time. 

Lucius looked from the manticore back to Hermione. "Trust me, Hermione, and just watch..."

 _"Master, what is your will?"_ the manticore asked in that same ritual voice Hermione had last heard out of it. Again, gone was the irritable old man voice, no doubt the manticore's true voice. In fact, in this manner, the manticore remained marble, and its mouth didn't move as it spoke. It occurred to Hermione then that all of the magical creatures she had come across were most likely prisoners of the Malfoy family, eternally locked into their marble forms, cursed to obey and then turn back to cold, hard stone. The injustice of it angered Hermione, but she knew that now was not the time to bring it up. 

"My will is that you join your companions in the Fell Circle," Lucius said. Docilely, the manticore turned and walked down the path. Lucius and Hermione followed the manticore back through the underbrush. Hermione noted that this part of the forest was quiet, eerily so. Neither owls, nor rustlings of small creatures, nor crickets, nor frogs made noise. In fact, the only sounds came from their footfalls in the leaf litter. 

The path opened back up into the clearing that held the driftwood circle and the other magical creatures. The manticore walked through the stone arch and took its place on the right-hand side, on its base. _"Lord and master, I rest,"_ it said again, before becoming immobile. 

Lucius now held out his left arm. Blood continued to drip down, dark against his fair skin in the moonlight, obscuring part of the Dark Mark. Lucius patted his pockets. He looked at Hermione. "I foolishly didn't bring anything to stop the bleeding," he said. He sighed. "Well, it's not as if I'm going to bleed to death from it, in any event. I suppose it can wait until we get back to the house..."

Hermione frowned, wondering why he wasn't casting to heal it; he did have seven-plus levels of Healing. It didn't matter; Hermione knew she could do it just as easily as not. She didn't have a ton of healing spells, but this one was easy. Without a word, Hermione quickly touched her wand to Lucius' left forearm. 

"No, Hermione--" Lucius went to move out of the way, but the incant was already halfway out of Hermione's mouth.

" _Dermium immendo,_ " she said. For a split second, Hermione thought she saw the Dark Mark light up under her wand, but it was hard to tell with the blood. 

Lucius glared at her. "I told you not to do that," he said. 

Hermione scowled back. "You're welcome," she replied as the wound closed. "Besides, it's not as if _I_ can call You-Know-Who. Only a Death Eater can do that and it's a special incant anyway."

"Did you read that in a book?" Lucius asked disdainfully. 

"Well, no, but--"

"Then don't you _dare_ presume to know what a Death Eater can and cannot do, nor by what magic the Dark Lord can be summoned. You are utterly ignorant of these matters and _pray_ you remain so." Lucius' voice was sharp with fury. He then looked around warily before his gaze found Hermione again. The next time he spoke, Lucius had relaxed slightly. "I don't believe that you did summon him, Miss Granger, but believe you me, there's a reason I didn't use magic and a reason why I asked for you to obey me." 

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was only trying to help."

Lucius held her gaze for a few more seconds. "I will say this, though: being a Gryffindor and having poor impulse control go together like salamanders and flame." Hermione smiled in the dark. If Lucius could take a shot back at her, that meant he wasn't irretrievably angry. "Let's go," he said. "You're in the lead." Hermione cast Lumos and slipped past him before continuing out through the forest. 

She turned back to him after a few yards. "Did you imprison all of those magical creatures?" she asked. 

"Not me," Lucius answered her. "And that's not exactly what happened."

"What exactly happened?" Hermione wasn't sure he'd tell her, but she had nothing to lose in asking.

"Why, something far worse, something that included the Final Knife, since you asked," Lucius said, and again Hermione could hear the smile in his voice. "Would you like to hear about it?"

"Sure," Hermione muttered. She stopped for a moment and looked at him. "Wait. Is it worse than your story as how you lost your virginity?" 

Lucius stopped as well. "Very much so, Miss Granger." Hermione started at that moment, hearing some small prey animal shrieking in response to some predatory act. It must have been fatal because even more chilling than the sound was the sudden silence. 

All the hair on the back of Hermione's neck went up. "Well then, I appeal to you: do I want to hear about it?" she asked.

Lucius turned from her and started to walk once again. Hermione turned and followed. "It's entirely up to you," he said indifferently. "You asked if it's a terrible story. Of course it is. If you want to hear about Dark Arts, _true_ Dark Arts, not what they taught you in your Hogwarts class regarding defense against them, you're going to be privy to some true horrors." He stepped over the same stream that Hermione had crossed on the first night and then held his hand out to her. Hermione frowned at such a chivalrous gesture, and then took his hand and crossed as well. "However, it was a condition of your becoming my mistress, was it not, to learn what I could teach you about Dark Arts, knowledge few others know?"

He had her there. "Then I guess I'd better have it," Hermione said.

"Such a brave decision," Lucius said. "It all starts with one of my ancestors, one Pierre Malfoy."

"Pierre Dragonsbane? The one who slayed the last silver dragon?"

"Yes, the very same. Now, if you think I crave power, my decisions and actions pale in comparison to some of the things he did." Lucius stepped around a patch of glowing blue mushrooms that sparkled with what looked like gold dust. "As I told you that first night at my house, his goal indeed was to make a weapon of such power that it could take down a dragon. Of course, wands can do a great deal of damage, but only against human enemies and lesser magical creatures, but there is virtually nothing that can slay a dragon. They are simply too tough physically and too powerful magically. That challenge appealed to Pierre greatly, that his greatness could be assured through the creation of such an artifact."

"I'm sure that knowing how powerful silver dragon blood is helped motivate him as well," Hermione said, watching her feet for tree roots. 

"Yes, and all the Malfoys from him all the way down to me have him to thank for the supply that we retained from his maniacal life's mission." Lucius ducked under a low branch. "Anyway, artifacts and rituals like that can only be made with blood, specifically life's blood, and even more specifically magical life's blood. Now, Pierre knew this, so being the cunning wizard that he was, he decided to kill two Inferi with one curse, which is where the statues come in."

Hermione swallowed, already suspecting what was coming.

"He went to Italy and commissioned a sculptor to make a life-sized statue of each of the beasts you see in my Fell Circle. Pierre then had them shipped right here to Malfoy Manor and arranged them in their current configuration. Once they were in place, he captured their live counterparts and at midnight on the winter solstice, brought them all into the circle as well. The knife he had forged by the goblins, of course, and he brought that as well. The last thing he brought was his beautiful wife Giselle. 

"Everything arranged, he started the ritual. As far as I know, it doesn't have a name, as it was created by Pierre Malfoy himself and never repeated, a ritual so dire it defied publication, not that he would have written about it anyway. He had already Imperius cursed every creature, so they wouldn't escape or try to kill him. He bound each one to its marble counterpart. He then killed each of them with the knife, one at a time, letting their blood wash red over that white marble. This sealed their essence and life force in the marble. Each time he slayed one of them, the knife drank in the magical blood, becoming more and more powerful. 

"But Pierre knew it wouldn't be enough, which was why he brought Giselle, whom he loved dearly, if accounts can be believed." Now the trees were starting to thin and Hermione knew that they were approaching the field near the perimeter ward. "You see, Miss Granger, magic of this caliber requires sacrifice, above and beyond the blood and death that Pierre had already meted out." He paused, moving a branch out of the way so it wouldn't hit Hermione in the face. "I think you can likely guess the rest." 

"He killed her too," Hermione answered in a hollow voice. 

"Indeed, Miss Granger. He cut her throat, killing her swiftly and mercifully, and thus completing the ritual. Pierre had his Final Knife, but had lost the love of his life in the process."

"Why did he do it?" Hermione asked.

Lucius paused. "Pierre did love his wife, it's true," he answered, his voice distant, "He just loved himself more." Hermione said nothing, just wondered at Lucius' introspection, if he possibly saw a reflection of Pierre in himself. "In any event, she got the last laugh," Lucius said, voice now back to its ironic normalcy. "After Pierre killed the last silver dragon and collected its blood, which you saw that day you decided to disrupt Severus' potions class, Giselle had become a banshee and haunted Pierre right into insanity. Consumed with guilt and fear, he turned the Final Knife on himself, but not before using it to spill his own blood on the magical statues, ensuring that they could only be controlled by Malfoy blood."

Now they were at the edge of the field, out of the trees. A breeze had come up and Hermione shivered. She stopped and Lucius stopped next to her. 

"Problem, Miss Granger?" Lucius asked lightly. 

Hermione sighed. "You weren't wrong: it's a terrible story."

"Well, he left quite the inheritance, for what it's worth..."

"Breeding stone-cold, selfish killers? What is that worth?" It was out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop it. Perhaps Lucius was right about poor impulse control.

"It meant a Final Knife, eternally loyal family guardians and sometime assassins, and a great deal of powerful blood," Lucius answered coldly. "But I appreciate your ill-informed judgments about me and my family as much as I ever have. They're as welcome from you as they are from the Weasleys."

"Sorry," Hermione muttered. Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut? 

"Don't trouble yourself," Lucius said. "Feel free to show me where you went next." He gestured at the field in front of them. 

"It's literally a minefield," Hermione said, looking at him. "I didn't walk across it last time."

"Indeed? How did you get across?" 

Hermione shook her head in the dark. "It's a difficult spell," she said. "I don't think I could duplicate it right now."

Lucius sighed and rubbed the side of his temple with two fingers. "Did I ask you to cast it? No, I didn't. I merely asked you to tell me how you did it."

"Oh," Hermione said, somewhat abashed. "Well, it was the Solumsese charm." 

Lucius' eyebrows shot up again. "My goodness," he said. 

Hermione smiled wryly. "I'm glad to see I can still impress you." 

Lucius returned her smile. "Well, I can't imagine you would have to duplicate such trying magical acrobatics tonight." He turned from her and Nox'd his wand before pointing it out at the field. " _Semita revelio,_ " he said. Instantly, a pale white path revealed itself through the tall grass, outlining all the buried shells with an eerie glow. 

Hermione stepped into the field and crossed one step at a time, carefully avoiding the shells, Lucius one pace behind her. After a few minutes, they were back at the concertina wire fence, where they stopped again. "I Apparated just there," Hermione said, pointing to the warning sign. "On the other side of that sign." 

"And how did you know to Apparate 'just there?'" Lucius asked, once again clearly already knowing the answer. "A house elf, perhaps?"

"Yes, Dobby was quite helpful," Hermione said. "But for what it's worth, he was bashing his head against the table every few seconds. You trained him well."

"Good," Lucius said harshly. Again, Hermione realized getting into elf rights with Lucius Malfoy was a complete waste of time. As much as she would have loved to enlighten him, this was one belief that was simply too ingrained in him. Lucius walked over to a boulder and leaned against it. Hermione came over and joined him.

"So, that's it," Hermione said. "From end to beginning." 

"Thank you for telling me," Lucius said, and Hermione wasn't sure whether or not he was mocking her. "It was quite illuminating."

"I'm not really sure what use it is," Hermione said. "I mean, that's just how I did it. If someone else was going to do it, I doubt they'd do it the exact--"

" _Quiet!_ " Lucius cut her off, coming off the rock, wand out and up, his body tense. Hermione froze, listening. Again, everything was quiet. Hermione looked over at Lucius slowly and noted with growing terror that the Dark Mark was glowing red. Her heart sank. "He's coming," Lucius said firmly. "Get down now and don't move," he ordered. He pulled her roughly down into the boulder's shadow. " _Sombra obscura,_ " he cast. He then pulled one corner of the shadow over her like a blanket. Blackness descended over Hermione's vision. She could see nothing, but the complete blindness made her hearing more acute. 

Hermione strained her ears. She heard a rush of sound, as if from the wings of hundreds of birds taking off at once. The next moment, she heard a voice, chilling in its capacity for cruelty and knew that she was hearing Voldemort. She froze. "Lucius." The voice sounded amused. 

"My-my lord," Lucius said, his voice shaking.

"I heard your summoning, Lucius, and responded as promptly as I could, out of respect for all that you've done for me. However, the call was so tentative, so hesitant that I couldn't help but think that it was somehow a mistake..."

Hermione felt herself break out in a cold sweat. Voldemort was here and Lucius was in danger because of _her_ mistake.

When Lucius spoke again, he sounded unsure, as if cowering in front of Voldemort. "I-I wasn't sure if I should...if I was worthy of your attention, my lord, so I called you only with the greatest trepidation and reverence," Lucius said. 

"Then why are your wards still up?" Voldemort asked, now sounding annoyed. "If you wanted to see me, why subsequently shut me out with your protective enchantments? I see as well that you have doubled them. If you're as loyal to me as you would have me believe, what could you possibly have to fear from me?"

"One can never be too careful, my lord," Lucius replied, sounding wheedling. Hermione listened, mesmerized. He was putting on a terrific performance for Voldemort, but Hermione could tell that Lucius had no interest in dropping the wards, and so was merely playing for time. 

"Well," Voldemort continued. "I shall only consider your loyalty authentic if you drop your wards now." 

Hermione had to act quickly. As far as she was concerned, she had created the problem so it was up to her to solve it. She closed her eyes. " _Specialis revelio,_ " she said as softly as she could. In her mind, she could now picture very clearly the perimeter wards separating her and Lucius from Voldemort. They all glowed different colors in bands that ran parallel to the concertina wire, but she could identify them: Salvio Hexia glowed blue, Protego Horiblis purple, Protego Totalum green, Anti-Intruder orange, and lastly, Repello Muggletum glowed yellow. Hermione's heart leapt as she found her answer. She knew she would never beat Voldemort with magic, for several reasons. The most obvious was that he was far too powerful. He was also beyond those magical bonds of color and thus, beyond her reach. Additionally, any magic that she cast against him he would attribute to Lucius, which would put him in even greater danger. 

Hermione cleared her mind utterly and focused on the yellow band. Like disarming Lucius without a wand, Hermione had no idea if this was going to work, but she had no other options. It simply had to work. She lifted her wand and started bending the Repello Muggletum line out, both increasing its energy and reversing its polarity. She thought of the police show that her parents watched as she did it. 

"I'm not going to ask you again, Lucius," Hermione heard Voldemort say, his voice sharp and impatient. "Drop your wards, or your life and your loyalty will be forfeit." 

"My lord, I have always been your most loyal of servants," Lucius said, ingratiatingly.

"Then prove it. My patience is at an end." Voldemort's voice now came out as an angry hiss.

Hermione concentrated with all her might on the gold line. _Come on,_ she thought, _come on!_ Above the sound of her heart hammering in her ears she heard sirens over the roar of a truck motor. Flashing red lights splashed against the colored bands in Hermione's mind and a giant spotlight. Above that, she heard an enraged shriek and then the rushing of the wings again. Then, Lucius casting " _Sombra obscura,_ " before he joined her in the shadow. He leaned against her, now sharing her hiding spot, his breath ragged in her ear. 

Hermione heard the sirens get louder and then cease, the truck's engine go off, and then heard a truck door slam, first one, and then a second. Hermione relaxed her mind and let the gold band snap back into place. 

"What the bloody hell, Jefferson?" A police officer. "There's nothing here."

"I thought I saw something." A different officer, younger, less jaded and more anxious. 

A sigh of disgust. "Let's go. And no more false alarms." The first officer too sounded uneasy, but was covering it well with practiced irritation. 

"All right, all right..." The swish of legs in tall grass. One truck door slammed and then the other. The sudden cough of the starter before the truck motor turned over. The whine of the truck making a U-turn and then the motor's voice getting smaller and smaller. When it disappeared altogether, Lucius removed the shadow. He got up first, and then helped Hermione off of the ground.

Hermione smiled shakily. "Muggles," she said, shaking her head. "They always have the _worst_ timing, sticking their noses where they don't belong." She then sighed theatrically. "I guess a Repello Muggletum charm just isn't what it used to be." She looked at Lucius. "Is it?" 

"You summoned them..." he said. 

Hermione held out her wand and looked at it before casting Lumos. "Well, you may rest easy, my pureblood lover: as it turns out, you _can_ call 9-9-9 from a wand. It looks like there's some benefit after all in taking a Muggle-born mistress." She shrugged, her eyes resting on Lucius once again. "Who knew? Besides, You-Know-Who can hardly blame _you_ for the police showing up at an inopportune moment. Certainly, he must know that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't dream of associating with Muggles in any capacity..." 

Hermione found Lucius' expression hard, and thought he might scold her for violating his command to not move, to say nothing of the Statute of Secrecy, before he softened. "Thank you," he said quietly. He closed the distance between them and reached up, sliding both hands up her jaw before drawing her in and kissing her. Somewhere in the Malfoy parkland, an owl hooted.


	15. 41: Certain People; 42: As My Queen Commands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the Burrow Ginny reflects on her memory of the day of the Vow; there also, Hermione seeks out Ginny's company, but their reunion is soured as Hermione faces off against the twins once again. Narcissa is released from St. Mungo's back to the Manor, wherein she reunites with Lucius by putting him in his place. After, Narcissa expresses her concerns over his relationship with Hermione.
> 
> _"Excellent," Narcissa said. "I'm glad you agree. After all, so much of you is words...lies...saying exactly the right thing to exactly the right person. Words are easy, aren't they? Carefully crafted in that devious mind of yours, spoken with perfect timing, perfect inflection and the world just plays right into your scheming hands. In point of fact, that's likely how you got your non-pedigreed tart to let you have her, not once, but I suspect time and time again. You told her what she wanted to hear, poured so much honeyed poison in her ears that it traveled down her young body to her legs, which I imagine spread quite gladly for you." She leaned down now and spoke softly in Lucius' ear. "But I'm not her, am I?"_
> 
> _Lucius shook his head. "No, my queen."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa's back, bitches. And she and her husband of 20+ years enjoy some tender, missionary, married-people lovemaking. OK, I'm totally kidding; that's not at all what happens. I have a theory of people who have been married for a long time: either they get into a dull sex routine, they stop fucking altogether, or they get KINKY WEIRD. Obviously, the last option is the most interesting. I don't usually write fem-dom but it is, on occasion, super-duper fun, and I can unequivocally say I wrote that scene with joy in my heart. 
> 
> I also have to apologize for the lapse between the last chapter and this one. This is all-new content, people, which always takes longer. I'm trying to connect back to the stuff I already wrote, before crafting the end of this monstrosity, further down the pipeline. This will not remain a WIP forever, and I have to thank those of you reading for your faith in choosing to read it so far, even knowing that it is indeed a WIP.

CHAPTER 41: CERTAIN PEOPLE

It was three weeks into summer holiday, and Ginny lay sprawled on her bed in the Burrow. Bright golden sunlight shone through the open window to splash on her patchwork quilt in a neat square. It was a lazy sort of Saturday and Ginny sighed with contentment as she passed her hand in and out of the light, letting it warm her skin, while watching the dust motes float like microscopic gilded fairies. Harry was staying over, which was always fun. They played Quidditch with Ron during the day and then, after everyone was in bed, she and Harry would sneak out to her father's shed. There, they would pass the time together on a blanket laid out in a relatively clean spot of floor behind a haphazard pile of dusty radios that probably hadn't served their function since Grindelwald's defeat. 

Ginny had no idea if things would last between her and Harry. All she knew was that he was kind, funny, and very much into her. Whatever happened, it was not at all an unpleasant way to spend these few weeks of early summer. Ginny flipped onto her back so now her abdomen was in the square of sunlight, getting warmer. She supposed she should get up and see if her mother needed anything, but she was just so very comfortable and besides-- _"Ginny!"_ her mother hollered, as always magically able to project her voice from the kitchen all the way up the dozens of flights of rickety stairs between the kitchen and Ginny's room. 

Ginny sighed. "Coming, mum," she grumbled. "I wasn't doing anything anyway."

"I heard that!" 

Ginny scowled in the direction of the door before stretching like a cat. With great effort, she finally sat up and made her way down the stairs all the way to the kitchen. At the threshold, she stopped. "Yes, mother?" she asked, smiling sweetly. 

Her mother glanced at her, somewhat harried as always. "Oh, Ginny, there you are. I need you to knead this bread so I can get a start on the pies for this evening. The twins are coming for the weekend and Hermione Granger is coming for dinner."

Ginny froze. "Hermione?" she asked. They had barely exchanged two words since the Vow.

Molly did a double take at her. "Why, yes, dear. Surely you must remember the conversation from last night. She sent an owl, wanted to see the lot of us, especially with Harry here." Molly smiled. "It was quite friendly."

Ginny had not remembered. It was entirely possible that she had been running her foot up Harry's leg under the table at the time, making him blush furiously, so she may have missed the conversation entirely. "Do Fred and George know that she's coming and vice versa?" Ginny asked, attempting to sound as casual as possible. 

"No, but they get on well enough," Molly said dismissively, turning and putting an apron on, before handing one to Ginny and fixing her with a look of suspicion. "Why do you ask?"

Ginny smiled. "No reason," she answered, taking the apron and putting it on. It was one her mother had made her when she was about 12, green gingham with happy pink birds and hearts appliquéd on it. Ginny felt ambivalent about the apron. It was a child's garment and she was not a child and had not been a child for quite some time. Tom Riddle had seen to that long ago. Still, it touched Ginny that her mother had taken the time to make it for her, selecting the fabrics, possibly re-purposing them from something else much-loved, likely from her own childhood, cutting out the shapes, sewing or magicking them on, and then putting the pattern pieces together, all the while thinking of her. They may have had their differences but in being the only girl, Ginny was aware that she held a special place in her mother's heart. Ginny smiled ruefully and tied the rick-rack trimmed tie behind her back. She fished around for a hair tie in her pocket and pulled back her long red hair, getting it out of her face. 

She rolled up her sleeves and got to work. Her mother could have done it by magic easily, but chances were excellent that she had other motives, such as wanting to spend time with Ginny, or perhaps wanting to keep an eye on her because she suspected, correctly, that something was going on between her and Harry. Or perhaps it was just to make her busy for the sake of being busy and not lazy, which even Ginny could admit was her default state when left to her own devices. Ginny pulled the crock of flour over to the much-loved bread board and sprinkled a generous handful onto it. She then pulled the cloth off the bread, inhaling deeply as she did, breathing in the dough's prosaic and comforting yeast smell, a mere hint of what it would be like in all its glory out of the oven in a few hours. 

Ginny poured the sticky dough out on to the board before scraping out the scraps with the side of her hand. She then floured the top of the dough liberally and started kneading. As she did, she let her mind wander, wondering why Hermione would seek them out now. Ginny was absolutely sure that something was still going on between her and Lucius Malfoy. However, she didn't dare ask, as her last conversation with Hermione on the subject of her interest in that problematic ex-Death Eater had ended catastrophically. 

At best, things had been awkward between her and Hermione since school ended. Ginny knew that she owed Hermione for voluntarily entering the belly of the beast by rescuing her from Malfoy Manor. Technically, Ginny hadn't truly been in danger, but Hermione had no way of knowing that and had dived in head-first anyway. Ginny also knew that she had wronged Hermione in the entire matter of the silver dragon blood, and that she didn't even deserve the ensuing rescue, which led to Ginny feeling inordinately guilty every time she even thought about Hermione, much less saw her or spoke with her.

It was for this reason that Ginny hadn't hesitated to stand up for Hermione the night of the 7th Year Ball, although she wanted to kick her for being that careless. It wasn't a big deal that Ginny knew, but Fred and George were a different story, because if they believed it, who knew what they would do with that information. It wasn't as if they owed Hermione any allegiance, and owed nothing whatsoever to long-standing family enemy Lucius Malfoy. Moreover, if they actually brewed Polyjuice to become Lucius, it would bring all sorts of hell down on multiple people. Ginny turned the dough and added more flour. Even Fred and George wouldn't be that stupid, or so she hoped. Also, as it happened, Ginny herself had a secret regarding that particular Dark Wizard. 

As she kneaded the dough, enjoying the exercise-induced warmth in her forearms, Ginny's mind wandered back to the day of the Vow. On that day, Ginny watched Dumbledore push a golden envelope down the table to Lucius, an envelope whose contents had yielded so much mayhem. As much as Ginny hated Lucius, and particularly hated losing to him, a part of her felt relieved watching the envelope leave their possession once and for all. She sighed at the inevitability of Lucius getting his way yet again; she wasn't even bitter, just exhausted. At that point, her revenge now seemed like an irksome chore that could be put off until some date in the future, or not at all. Truthfully, she hoped this would be the end.

Lucius opened the envelope and looked inside without taking its contents out and then nodded. "Fine," he finally said. "Who's the Bonder?" 

"I am," Professor McGonagall said.

Lucius nodded, seemingly content with the choice. 

"I'll go first," Ginny said, standing.

"Everyone else may be excused," McGonagall said, standing as well. The rest of the room cleared. Lucius remained seated, a smile playing about his face. 

"Something funny?" Ginny asked, folding her arms, all the while thinking about how much she loathed the sadistic, arrogant prick. Lucius had taken a clean quill and was running it through his fingers. He didn't answer her, nor did he look at her, just remained seated and looked instead at Professor McGonagall who nodded smartly, and then walked over to the back door of the room and knocked three times. Ginny's eyes flicked from Lucius to McGonagall. Ginny had never participated in an Unbreakable Vow, but she somehow doubted this was part of it. Something else was happening, but she didn't know what, and now her guard was up. It was almost as if she could see Lucius bending the situation into a different shape, one that benefited him instead of her and it made her hate him even more.

The door opened and Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic himself stepped through. He and McGonagall held a brief, whispered conference with each other, and then McGonagall left, shutting the door behind her. Scrimgeour crossed the room and stood at the head of the table. He tossed a folder on the table in front of him. "You may sit back down, Miss Weasley," he said, his voice a low rumble. Wary now, Ginny sat slowly back down but did not relax; rather she kept her body poised and ready. Scrimgeour pulled out Dumbledore's chair and sat as well. 

Ginny now looked from Scrimgeour to Lucius and back. "Are you the Bonder now?" she asked Scrimgeour. Lucius ran the quill through his fingers, still smiling.

"There won't be any vow today," Scrimgeour said. "At least, not for you."

"What?" Ginny asked, incredulous. She shook her head firmly. "No. I am not leaving this room until _he_ \--" she glared at Lucius before looking at Scrimgeour once again, who dispassionately watched her throw her tantrum. Ginny set her mouth in a tight line. "Do you know what? Never mind. I can see very plainly what's going on here. He said it himself. There's not a lot money won't buy including excusing himself from an Unbreakable Vow that he simply can't be bothered to--" She cut off as Scrimgeour slid the file folder over to her. 

Ginny slowly reached her hand out, as if the file would bite her. It was purple, with the Ministry for Magic _M_ on the front, but stamped over top were the words _Unspeakable Clearance Only_. On the tab was written _Ginevra Molly Weasley_. Her heart skipped a beat as she pulled it across the polished wood of the table towards her.

"Before you open it, Miss Weasley, I must ask you, is it still your wish to become an Auror?" Scrimgeour asked. 

Ginny looked at him again and then back to Lucius. Lucius set the quill down. "Someone has to stop people like me," he said softly. "Those were your words, weren't they?" 

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "This was...this was all a test?" she asked. 

Lucius spread his hands. "You may call it a ruse if it would help you sleep at night," he said. Ginny stared at him, trying to process what she was seeing and hearing. His words, spoken from his dungeon, reverberated in her mind. _From where you lie, my behavior must seem quite reprehensible, but I can assure you, cruel or kind, all of my actions serve a purpose. One day, you may even thank me for this._

"A test that you passed without question, Miss Weasley," Scrimgeour said. "And so, once again I must ask you, do you wish to become an Auror?" 

"What if I say no?" Ginny asked.

At the same time, Scrimgeour and Lucius took out their wands. Lucius didn't actually point his wand at her, he merely had it out, running his fingers over it as he had the quill. Scrimgeour also wasn't pointing his wand at Ginny, but looked at it almost sadly. 

"Do I have a choice?" Ginny asked, her eyes fixed on Scrimgeour's wand.

"You always have a choice, Miss Weasley, even if the other choice is death," Lucius answered, lifting his wand slightly.

"You're not helping, Malfoy," Scrimgeour growled.

"I must say that's a relief, seeing as I'm not attempting to help, Scrimgeour," Lucius retorted.

Scrimgeour sighed and turned his attention back to Ginny. "You _do_ have a choice," he answered. "You may continue your journey to becoming an Auror, but should that journey end today, we will have no choice but to erase your memories of all relevant events." 

Ginny swallowed. "Those are intense, dare I say indelible memories," she said. "That will be a major Obliviate spell."

"What a keen grasp of the obvious you have," Lucius said, sounding bored. He turned his attention to Scrimgeour. "Are you absolutely certain you even want her as an Auror?" 

"Hence the two wands, Miss Weasley," Scrimgeour said, ignoring Lucius. "It would be two major Obliviate spells and you would likely lose other parts of your memory from the last few weeks. However, as a matter of national security, refusing this opportunity would leave us with no alternatives. Once again, I must ask you, do you wish to become an Auror?"

"I suspect you already know that the answer can only be yes," Ginny said. "If for no reason than I'll be damned if I stand here and take another curse from that wand." She pointed at Lucius.

"That's not a very good reason but if you're sincere then you may open the file if you wish." Scrimgeour put his wand away and then looked pointedly at Lucius. Lucius sighed as if it pained him greatly, and he too put his wand away. 

Ginny opened the file and read the assessment: _assault by Draco Malfoy...no viable information given by subject...Department of Mysteries...threat of imminent death...Future with Auror Office: Favorable._ "But did Draco even know?" Ginny asked, looking up from the file. Somehow she doubted Draco was that good of an actor. She saw Scrimgeour exchange a glance with Lucius, whose smile had been replaced by a look of consternation. 

"We're going to leave Draco out of the equation for the time being," Scrimgeour answered her carefully. 

"All right," Ginny said, shrugging. It didn't matter anyway. She turned to Lucius. "How did this even happen?" she asked. 

Once again, Scrimgeour answered. "Malfoy came to me after he surmised it was you who had masterminded the majority of the blackmailing scheme. In your 5th Year career counseling, you had put Auror as your first choice. If you look beneath your assessment, you'll see your written consent to such tests as were needed for Auror viability. Your OWLs supported the decision, as did several recommendations from various professors, so we opted to put your suitability to the test in a practical atmosphere. As it happened, Malfoy's desire to take revenge over your plot coincided perfectly with your assessment without rousing suspicion, albeit sooner than we might have otherwise planned."

"How convenient," Ginny said, not letting her eyes leave Lucius' face. "You were lucky enough to torture me legally."

Lucius smirked. "Ah, but it's far better than torturing you illegally, Miss Weasley. Everybody won, including you and whether it was intentional or not, I'll overlook the insult inherent in your belief that the events as they played out were mere luck. And I still haven't heard you say thank you." 

Ginny felt her fists clench by her sides and her fingers itched for her wand. "Nor will you," she said, injecting as much wrath into those three words as possible. Her eyes now lit upon Scrimgeour once again. "You know you can't trust him," she said. 

Scrimgeour regarded her. "Has it occurred to you that as Minister of Magic, and as an operative with 35 years of Auror experience that I may know at least some things that you don't?" he asked. 

Ginny looked at him for one moment more, but didn't answer him, before turning back to Lucius. "This changes nothing between us," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, all this means is that you slithered out of blame for something horrible that you did, yet again."

"I also gave you a glowing recommendation to the Auror office, paving your career path for you," Lucius replied, starting to meet her venom with some of his own. "Do you still think you don't owe me any gratitude?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not in the slightest," she said. "You can't buy me. You can't buy _anyone_ in our family. We've been taught too well."

Lucius' eyes lit up, almost as if he was taking her words as a challenge, and his face adopted a gloating smirk. If nothing else, it was plain to Ginny that he was having an obscene amount of fun at her expense and she didn't appreciate it one bit. 

Scrimgeour spoke up again. "If you wish to work for the Auror Office, Miss Weasley, I'd suggest taking your demeanor towards Malfoy down a peg or two. You shall ultimately be working for me, and I was the one who allowed for all of this to happen. Malfoy put you through your paces at my request, and at yours too based on your waiver. Had you read it, you would know that becoming a successful Auror hinges on being able to withstand severe physical, spiritual, magical, and psychological stress. Malfoy excels at applying these forces to others, which is why I agreed to let him do it to you."

Ginny fumed silently. It was all so much worse than she had initially feared. It wasn't that Lucius Malfoy had the Ministry in his pocket, it was that the Ministry was so far in his pocket that they now legitimized his terrible acts. 

Scrimgeour continued. "You should also know that Malfoy pulled his curses far more than he would have had he been given free reign, again at my request." 

_You weren't there,_ Ginny thought, but caught the words just in time before they left her mouth and got her into even bigger trouble with the person who would be her ultimate boss.

Scrimgeour scratched one shaggy eyebrow with the back of his thumb, looking thoroughly weary of the entire process. "I can't force you to thank him, but you are only here because of his favorable report."

The words felt like bile rising in the back of Ginny's throat. "Thank you," she said, loading the maximum amount of contempt into the normally polite phrase. 

Lucius smiled in vindication and inclined his head modestly, ignoring her tone. "You're most welcome, Miss Weasley." 

At that time, Ginny finished signing the rest of those documents committing her to silence regarding Lucius' involvement, but only with the greatest resentment. She didn't believe for a moment that Lucius had changed, but at the same time, she was bound by her desire to be an Auror to keep her mouth shut about him. 

Back in the kitchen, under her hands the bread dough was becoming smoother and Ginny found she was adding less and less flour with each turn. Finally, she dusted her hands off and found the oil, which she used to cover the inside of the bowl the dough had come out of. She tilted the bowl to spread it around and then put the bread back in, spinning it to cover all of it with oil so it wouldn't dry out before replacing the cloth over top. She then washed her hands. "Anything else, mum?" she asked.

Her mother turned from what she was doing to smile at her. "Not now, dear. Thank you." She leaned over and kissed Ginny on the cheek. 

"Sure, mum," Ginny said, before doffing her apron and hanging it back up. She went out to the shed and got out her broom. Ron and Harry were already out, so she joined them. After she had been out for about 20 minutes, Fred and George showed up, and of course had to join them as well. They played for the better part of the afternoon, until their mother called them in to get ready for dinner. Ginny got to the bathroom first, so was ready before her brothers or Harry. She rushed down the creaky wooden stairs just in time to see Hermione come in through the door. 

Molly have her a warm hug and Hermione and Ginny's eyes met. There was something in Hermione's face, a haunted and yet yearning look. They hugged, somewhat awkwardly and as they did, Hermione whispered to her "I have to talk to you," before they broke. Ginny nodded. Fred and George came down and, upon seeing Hermione, both of them stopped dead and looked at her, and Ginny could feel an icy curtain descend between the three of them. "Miss Granger," Fred said, and if Ginny didn't know any better, she could swear he was drawing out his vowels and caressing his consonants in a passable impression of Lucius.

Hermione blushed and looked away. "How are you?" she asked, looking at the doorjamb. 

"Oh, in an _extraordinarily_ good mood," George answered, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Hermione now looked at him and smiled without letting it reach her eyes. "How nice for you," she said, finding her voice and sharpening it as if readying a blade for battle. "Business doing spectacularly, then?" 

"It is indeed," Fred answered her loftily.

"From one or both ends?" Hermione asked, her smile widening.

Ginny had no idea what was going on between Hermione and the twins, but whatever it was, it seemed to be a game that Hermione had no intention of losing. Perhaps that was one thing that she wanted to talk to Ginny about. Before Fred and George could answer, Harry and Ron came down and exchanged warm greetings with Hermione, but even as they did, Ginny noticed that Hermione kept a wary eye on the twins and vice versa. Luckily, her parents seemed to notice nothing was amiss as they went to have dinner. 

Hermione seemed to enjoy the company and vice versa, with the exception of the twins, but they kept a thin veneer of politeness over their scant verbal interactions. Hermione was going to start her job at the Ministry the following Monday and she had even found a house to rent, "out of the way, in the country, far from all the noise and bother of Diagon Alley." She glanced at Ginny as she said this, looking vaguely guilty. Ginny could read between the lines very clearly in this case; it was a place where she could have gentlemen callers, or specifically, _one_ gentleman caller without exposing what they were doing. Still, Hermione appeared pleased with the arrangement. In fact, Ginny found that Hermione seemed positively radiant: confident, relaxed, even a tad bit saucy as she gave as good as she got with the twins, Harry, and with Ron. 

Following dessert and clean-up, the light was starting to fade, so Ginny offered to secure the hen house. "Hermione, can you help me?" she asked pointedly.

"Oh!" Hermione said, catching her meaning. "Of course." The two of them moved through the barnyard to where the hen house stood. Ginny opened the door and did a quick head count. All the chickens were accounted for, so she took the waterer out and walked around the side of the house to the pump, Hermione shadowing her silently. She returned the now-full waterer and closed both the large door and the small door on the comfortably roosted hens. Hermione and Ginny then walked out into the field beyond.

Hermione broke the silence first. "How...have you been?" she asked tentatively.

"Fine," Ginny said, amused. "How have you--"

"I found your secret file, Ginny," Hermione cut her off.

Ginny froze and turned to her. "How?" she asked.

Hermione looked away. "I can't get into specifics," she muttered. "What matters is that I came across it in a certain person's house and I did read it."

"I see. And what were you doing in that certain person's house?"

Hermione looked back up at her, her expression pained. "I can't get--"

"Into specifics," Ginny sighed. "Right. He intimidated or charmed you into compliant silence."

Hermione looked hurt. "It's not like that, and you don't have to be so mean. I'm not the enemy."

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, feeling remorse over her hasty and spiteful words. Her experience with Lucius the day of the Vow still had her feeling sore, but she also knew it was wrong to take it out on Hermione, who was reaching out to her, even knowing how she felt about Malfoy. "I am. I just...I don't know what you see in him." 

"He's easy on the eyes," Hermione retorted.

Ginny couldn't help but smile at that. "I did say that at one point, didn't I?" 

"Uh, yes, when you were playing the pimp. I remember it like it was yesterday," Hermione answered, playfully shoving her in the shoulder. 

"As do I," Ginny conceded. "And it was a disaster, if my memory serves, which makes me wonder why you continue to pursue a...Merlin, I really hate to say 'relationship,'" she finished, wrinkling up her nose. "As for me, I don't believe for a moment that he has changed. Yes, you now know that he tortured me with the Ministry's blessing, but it doesn't change the fact that he enjoyed every second and that it ultimately served his own ends."

Hermione opened her hands in front of her. "I never suggested that people can go from being evil to being good at the speed of a well-aimed curse. What I'm saying is that there's room for moral ambiguity and that there may be reason for certain people to fight You-Know-Who, although I don't claim to know why that is...although I intend to find out."

Ginny shook her head. "Just be careful you're not deluding yourself. There's no such thing as a former Death Eater, Hermione," she said quietly. "I know you want to believe that he's changed, but those wizards and witches take that oath for life and are Marked by You-Know-Who. Once that happens, you can't just quit or say that you don't want to do it any more. You're loyal forever; you have no other option. Well...I'll amend that: you always have another choice, even if that choice is death." She smiled ruefully in repeating Lucius' cryptic words, even while talking about him specifically.

"Ginny, I was six feet from You-Know-Who and never got any closer because of...a certain person," Hermione said, her voice wavering. 

_"What?"_ Ginny hissed. "When?"

"If different decisions had been made in the moment by the person I was with at the time, the outcome would have been fatal for me and yet it wasn't." 

"Because Malfoy was likely looking out for himself, as he always does," Ginny argued. She turned to Hermione, who was looking at her miserably. Ginny sighed. "Are you happy?" she asked.

Hermione's expression changed into one of deep thoughtfulness as she looked out over the field as if the answer lay there in the softly waving twilit grass. "Yes," she said after a moment. "I feel alive, challenged, respected, and constantly at my full potential." She uttered the words almost defiantly.

"Do you feel loved?" Ginny asked, dreading either answer. 

To Ginny's shock, a tear had slipped down Hermione's face, which she brushed away quickly with the back of one hand. "Yes," she said, so softly Ginny almost couldn't hear her. 

A quiver of foreboding shot through Ginny. "Then savor it," she said, being mindful to keep any reprimand or judgment out of her voice. Now was not a time to be an enemy of Lucius Malfoy, but a friend to Hermione Granger. "And know that it can't possibly last." She said it as gently as she possibly could.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

Ginny looked out over the field as well. The sun had now set and the long grass showed like black knives against the orange-red of the sky. "This feeling you have, whether it's real or whether it's one of his elaborate manipulations, _whatever_ is going on between you two can't continue forever. If you've already met You-Know-Who in conjunction with spending time with Lucius, it's way too dangerous for both of you to pursue it much longer. It's a ticking time-curse." She turned back to Hermione, who continued to cry quietly. "Probably best to do it sooner rather than later."

Hermione sniffled. "I'm not ready," she said, shaking her head. "And I still need to find out the truth..." 

Ginny nodded. "Suit yourself," she said. "And watch your back. Make no mistake that Lucius Malfoy is not your friend." She looked quickly back to Hermione. "I'm not saying that to be mean, I promise. I just don't want to see you hurt. Enough damage has been done already in this...relationship."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione said. "Both for listening to me tonight and for covering for me, for _us_ , the night of the Ball."

Ginny at that point had turned and started to walk back towards the Burrow. "What happened the night of the Ball, anyway?" she asked. 

"Fred and George were in the right place at the right time, as they said, or the wrong place at the wrong time depending on who you ask," Hermione answered, running her fingers over the tops of the grass as they walked. The wind had picked up more, now making a slightly ominous whistle through the field. 

"I meant after that," Ginny said.

"Oh, we can answer that," a voice said mockingly.

"But _she_ can't." Another voice, an identical one, equally mocking. The twins popped up out of the field next to them like a pair of overgrown ginger gnomes. Hermione started, but Ginny just drew her arm back and hit Fred as hard as she could in the shoulder, simply because he was the closest. 

"Ow," he said, wincing. 

"Excuse me," Ginny said to Hermione in her most dignified voice. Hermione stepped aside for her and Ginny hit George as well. 

"That was uncalled for," George said, sounding wounded.

"No it wasn't," Ginny said coldly. "How dare you spy on us? This is girl talk. It's sacrosanct. Everyone knows that, and Merlin knows I get little enough of it around this sausage factory of a family." 

"Sausage factory?" Fred asked, grinning. "That's a good one; George, did you write it down?"

George returned his grin and tapped the side of his head. "Don't need to; it's too good to forget." 

Fred now turned back to the Ginny. "Girl talk might be sacrosanct, but the rules don't apply when you girls start to talk about us." His eyes flicked back to his twin, before he looked back at Hermione. "And Hermione can't tell you. Malfoy has shut her mouth very well, probably in more than one way." He leered at her. Hermione blushed and looked away.

"Which is actually kind of great," George chimed in. "Because it means that you'll only hear our version of events, which might sound slightly different than hers." 

Hermione now cut her eyes at him. "You know," she said, "you might not want to tell her any version of the events of that night, not even yours, because neither of you came out of that exchange unscathed." 

"We can't tell about how you and your Death Eater lover cruelly ambushed us--"

"And intimidated us..."

"And blackmailed us..." With each statement, the resentment in the twins' voices increased.

To Ginny's surprise, Hermione now smiled at both of the twins. "You can do whatever you want. I mean really, keep talking," she said, putting one hand on her hip. "Take this story to its conclusion for your sister. Why did a certain person blackmail you?"

Fred and George now exchanged a glance. "I thought you didn't know," Fred said warily.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That was then," she said, shrugging. "Besides, I can be quite persuasive when the need arises, such as drawing information out of those same people who possess it." 

Fred smirked. "Yeah, I'm sure you drew it out, right out of his--"

Now Ginny spoke up, cutting him off. "What does she mean by blackmail?" She looked from one twin to the other and back.

"Yes, Fred, go on and finish what you started," Hermione said, now folding her arms in challenge. "I never made any sort of vow, unbreakable or otherwise, not to lay all of your business bare for your family to see should you act in a way that I would not consider _deferential_. I mean, did you actually think this through before you opened your mouth?" 

Fred exchanged a dark look with his brother. 

Hermione nodded firmly. "That's what I thought. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to say my goodbyes to Harry, Ron, and your parents. You can stay here and sort this out if you wish. Or not." Hermione bowed her head slightly. "Thank you for your generous hospitality," she finished icily before turning back to Ginny. "Come and see me," she said. She eyed the twins once more. "Preferably alone."

"Bye Hermione," Ginny said heavily. She watched Hermione walk the rest of the way through the field before going back into the house. She then turned back to her brothers. "What's wrong with you two?" she asked, scowling at them, her hands now on her own hips. "When did you get this callous, this spiteful? I mean, you always teased, and your pranks did go too far a few times, but it was never like this." She saw Fred and George look at each other again and knew they were communicating in their uncanny twin way. "Or perhaps you always were this cruel, but I just made excuses for you because you're family, and everyone just loved you and your wacky antics to pieces."

"Come on, sis, you still love us to pieces," George said, chucking her on the shoulder and grinning guiltily.

"You know you do, us and our wacky antics," Fred said, chucking her on her other shoulder.

Ginny sighed and rubbed her forehead. "And I always will love you. You'll always be my family. But there will come a point, and it may not be very far in the future where I stop making excuses for you." She opened her hand towards them. "And it's not just me. If you show your cruel sides much more, everyone will stop making excuses for you, and then, when you're nasty enough to the wrong person, you'll find yourselves in trouble that you can't get out of." She dropped her voice. "Consider your charm and charisma finite resources, ones that are rapidly being depleted by your decisions and your behavior." 

With that she closed her hand and pushed past the twins, returning to her family's house, feeling uneasy in its capacity to be fractured, first explicitly by Percy, and now implicitly by Fred and George. If Lucius Malfoy had something on the two of them, they were definitely up to something that could bite them in the rear if they weren't careful, or more to the point, if they didn't stop antagonizing powerful people or the lovers of those powerful people. As Ginny walked back into the warm, well-lit kitchen and saw her parents, Ron, and Harry laughing over something, she hoped that it could withstand another fracture should Fred and George continue in their current trajectory. She sighed, drew up a chair, and joined in the merriment, putting the entire conversation from her mind. All was well, at least for the time being and, as she had told Hermione, she should savor it. 

CHAPTER 42: AS MY QUEEN COMMANDS

Six weeks had gone by and being in St. Mungo's long-term care closed ward was starting to grate on Narcissa. She had long since recovered from her hellish withdrawal from the augmented Draught of Peace. When she had talked to Lucius on that first morning when he had revealed the truth about Draco's expulsion, the potion had still been in her system, so she had still felt mellow, and what she considered normal. To her, normalcy and being sedated were the same thing. Being conscious meant having everything muted and numbed thanks to the potion, with all the razor edges of her bleak reality softened. 

That night was when the terrors had started. The problem wasn't the nightmares themselves, it was the fact that they lingered even while Narcissa was awake. Bugs crawled up the walls and over her bed, and over her as she screamed and screamed. Orderlies came, but they had horns and long, yellow fangs and claws. With monstrous, cruel hands, they restrained her to her bed with its clean, crisp, white sheets so she couldn't hurt herself or them. This meant that the insects had no resistance barring them from climbing over her body and her face. She cried and begged the staff to give her just enough potion to make the hallucinations stop, but of course they wouldn't. Healer Thompson, damn him to Hades, pointed out that doing so would just set her treatment back. Narcissa hated the sight of him, so reasonable, so calm as he sat on the edge of her bed, polished black antlers springing from his head even as he laid out his rationale for her plan of care in irrefutable clinical terms. 

The physical effects of withdrawal were no more fun than the magical or psychological ones: Narcissa shook with chills and yet she sweat profusely, soaking those sterile white sheets. She swallowed over and over; her mouth filled with saliva as all her body's secretions went into overdrive. She refused food as her nausea was near-constant. She continued in this state for three straight days and nights. During this time, Lucius had stayed away. Even though Narcissa despised him for it, ultimately she couldn't blame him; after all, he had been through it two other times with her. In fact, during previous hospital admissions, she had done nothing more than rail at him, calling him every name that she could think of in this immediate detoxification process. Deep down, she could admit that his absence was for the best while her withdrawal was acute.

On the morning of the fourth day, Narcissa woke up after a night of fitful sleep, the first of any flavor that she had had since starting her admission, and found that she was thirsty and hungry. She must have been far less violent over that night because although she still had the heavy leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles, their metal D-rings remained loose from their companion canvas straps that hung from the four corners of her bed. Generally, they would detach one at a time, every 15 minutes as she would start to calm down, but in the past, as soon as she got a leg free she would kick, and as soon as she got a hand free, she would claw, so back in she would go.

However, on that morning, Narcissa did neither of these things; she just sat up and rang the bell. An orderly came in and she calmly told him that she was hungry. He brought her some tepid tea and plain porridge, sustenance designed to be gentle on her system. She ate carefully, and for once, it settled her stomach. After that, each day became easier, to the point that they could let her out into the common areas, at first for an hour, with an orderly sitting less than an arm's length away from her, and then for more time, with the orderlies keeping farther away as some true normalcy returned. Interacting with other people had helped her mental state tremendously, even though her ward mates were not people she would normally choose to associate with.

In fact, one of the most surreal interactions she had experienced was with Alice Longbottom. Narcissa couldn't help but notice her, as it was Narcissa's own sister who had put her in St. Mungo's in the first place, all those years ago. Of course, Alice mercifully had no recollection of this. She hummed tunelessly to herself, walking around the common room with its mismatched furniture and collections of children's books. Alice would pick up objects, look at them with interest, and put them back, over and over again. On occasion, there would be art supplies for the residents, which Alice seemed to enjoy, painting large, abstract pieces. Healer Anderson, with her annoyingly constant cheer, would praise every single one, regardless of what it looked like and Alice would beam at her, brown eyes vacant and peaceful. 

Narcissa mostly kept to herself, sitting in a green armchair next to the barred, frosted glass window. She would curl her feet under her, making herself as small as possible and read, engaging in conversation if someone approached her, but mostly staying out of the milieu. One day, as she sat ensconced in her throne, deep in a book about a fairy and a clumsy shoemaker, Narcissa felt a gentle pull at her hair. Annoyed, she looked up. Alice looked back down at her, softly running Narcissa's two-tone tresses through her graceful fingers, the blonde and the dark brunette making a contrast Alice seemed to find interesting. Continuing to hum to herself, Alice dropped Narcissa's hair and drifted back over to the art table. Narcissa watched her once again as she made a flower out of tissue paper, a black and white one. She worked diligently, the sweet smile never leaving her face. When she was finished, she brought it back over to Narcissa and handed it to her. 

Ridiculously, Narcissa felt needles in the backs of her eyes as she took the delicate paper flower. Although it had been absurd, she had felt at fault because her family had put this poor woman in this state, and that she had no idea not only that it had happened, but that it was Narcissa's kin who had done it. Narcissa also felt deeply touched by this random act of kindness. Kindness from people with no expectation of reward was something that simply did not exist in Narcissa's world: everyone who inhabited it had an agenda that accompanied every act, whether it was kind or cruel. But this creature in front of her lacked that capacity completely: she had just made a pretty thing that she thought Narcissa would like, was inspired by her, or perhaps both. As Narcissa turned the flower in her hand, tears spilled down her face. Without another word, Alice leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead before walking away, once more humming tunelessly. 

That had been three weeks prior, and now everyone, Alice included, had started to wear on Narcissa, so she requested a meeting with a mercifully antler-free Healer Thompson to discuss her own release. He agreed to it, but insisted on having Lucius present. Narcissa had huffed at him and told him that she was her own person. "Nonetheless," Healer Thompson had persevered, "I need to make sure that your husband feels safe having you back at home." In the end, Narcissa had little choice but to agree. 

Lucius showed up the following afternoon, resplendent as always in his black robes and Narcissa hated him for looking so good when she no doubt looked like a hag. Still, Lucius' face softened when he saw her. As for Narcissa, she still wore her hospital gown, beige robe, green pajama bottoms printed with the St. Mungo's logo, and brown slippers with anti-skid charms built into the soles and of course lacking in laces, lest she strangle herself with them. She drew her spine up as Lucius walked into Healer Thompson's dingy office and sat straight, tilting her chin up at him and looking at him down her nose. 

Lucius' look of tenderness turned to one of amusement. Narcissa held her hand out to him imperiously, and he took it and pressed the back to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. As he touched her, Narcissa felt the smallest ghost of a tremor in her heart, a tiny echo of what it was like when she would see him across the quad at Hogwarts all those years ago. She quickly repressed it as Lucius dropped her hand and sat in the other ugly green vinyl chair next to her. The meeting ended up being a mere formality, as Lucius had likely already pulled the requisite strings to get her out. It had been long enough by then that he would have wanted her back. As he had said that first morning she was admitted, he did love her in his way and without Draco there, Malfoy Manor was a vast place in which to be the sole human.

 _Unless he's had the Mudblood there,_ a nasty inner voice reminded her. Narcissa sighed as she went back to her room to change into the clothes that Lucius had been thoughtful enough to bring to her. Ultimately, she didn't suppose this affair really mattered any more than the others had, if it was even still going on. If Lucius continued to dally with Granger, it was hardly a threat to Narcissa, just as those girls down at Patrona weren't a threat to her either. She and Lucius had been together for far too long and Lucius was loyal to her in some sense; although he may have been sharing his body with other witches, he never shared his heart with any but her; of that Narcissa was assured. 

Narcissa felt lighter as she stripped off the St. Mungo's things and put her own back on, the feel of fine silk lingerie on her body making her shiver. Picturing Lucius with other women used to make her blood boil, back when he had his first affair or two. Now, it no longer bothered her. Lucius had said long ago that jealousy was for the insecure, a group to which Narcissa no longer seemed to belong. She paused for a moment and deliberately put the picture of Lucius and Granger into her mind, him plunging his cock between her parted thighs, making her moan and she realized in horror that she was actually aroused by the image. When had that happened? Was she really so hard up in St. Mungo's that this was the result? Not that she had thought of sex during her stay, nor touched herself, which meant that, even worse, the sight of Lucius was bringing it out in her. Somewhat disturbed, Narcissa shook the feeling off and slipped out of the slippers and into her shoes. 

The last thing Narcissa took was her wand, feeling like she was now herself once again. In holding it in her hands, she felt more powerful than ever, which was curious, until she realized why that was. For the first time since Lucius had been released from Azkaban, Narcissa was completely clear of the Draught of Peace and in addition to sharpening her senses, it created a clarity that would no doubt make casting far easier. 

Lucius rejoined her in the lobby of St. Mungo's and together they Apparated back to Malfoy Manor. Once there, Narcissa went back to her room and summoned her favorite house elf, a female named Bonnsie. Narcissa let Bonnsie attend to her as she stripped once again and climbed into a steaming bath. She hadn't taken a bath since before she had been hospitalized and it felt indecently good, not just soaking in the hot water while Bonnsie rubbed the tension from her shoulders and scalp with her skilled hands, but in not being rushed through bathing out of consideration for the next patient. Gone were the utilitarian showers, generic soap, rough hospital-issue towels, and the thrice-damned efficiency and practicality of being in a total institution. 

After an age, Narcissa got out and dried off. She wrapped herself in a black cut-velvet dressing gown with silver embroidery trim and let Bonnsie brush her hair and put it up, her clever elf fingers managing a chic updo with curling tendrils falling gracefully over Narcissa's collarbones and shoulder blades. At that point, Narcissa dismissed Bonnsie and took over. She slipped out of her dressing gown and stood in front of her wardrobe naked. Letting her imagination wander over to her husband having sex aroused Narcissa more than she would like to admit. There was no way around the fact that she wanted to be touched, to be filled, but Narcissa saw no reason to make it an easy feat for Lucius simply to have her. She may have wanted him, but in no way did he deserve the easy sexual favors from her that he could obtain from any number of willing sexual partners he no doubt kept at his disposal. 

No, he had put Narcissa away for six weeks and had likely fucked the little Mudblood right here in their house, all while Narcissa languished inside a Merlin-forsaken mental hospital. Granger might be easy and tractable, but she was no more than a gullible toy for Narcissa's insatiable, manipulative husband, a girl trying to play a woman's game, and in this house, and with Lucius, Narcissa was nothing short of a warrior queen. With this in mind, Narcissa chose a leather under-bust corset that left her breasts bare, black thigh-high stockings, and a sheer black thong that just teased at showing those secret parts of her, parts she had not let Lucius, or anyone else for that matter access in some time. She finished with black leather boots with just enough heel to make her about half an inch taller than Lucius. 

Narcissa then sat down at her vanity and applied her make-up: dark sensuous mouth, dark eyes, dark fingernails, all in complementary shades of burgundy. She threw on the dressing gown and then pulled out her wand once again. Before she could perform the wand sequence to summon Bonnsie to her once again, Narcissa heard a civilized knock at the door. "Enter," she said. 

Narcissa saw in her mirror's reflection that it was Lucius. He closed the door behind him and looked at her. "You look beautiful," he said, his eyes lighting up as they took her in, even with her covered. 

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "And you think I did it for you, do you?" she said, allowing one corner of her mouth to curve up in a dry smile. 

Lucius looked around. "Well, there's no one else here," he said, walking towards her.

Narcissa smirked. "Of course you would think that. No one else here but you. Isn't that always the case?" 

Lucius sighed but said nothing.

"As it happens, _I_ would think not," Narcissa answered her own question. "You haven't really been alone, have you, while I've been at St. Mungo's?" She turned and fixed him with an accusatory stare. 

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Lucius answered, returning her smirk all while appearing politely puzzled. "Who else would be here?" 

Narcissa stood. "Oh, I don't know," she said casually. "One former Hogwarts student, a female one perhaps..." She circled Lucius slowly as she spoke, wand still drawn. "One that you've had before, at least once..." When Narcissa came back around his front, she stowed her wand in a pocket and unhurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. She pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, exposing his chest and abdomen. "One of _base_ parentage, perhaps..." she punctuated the word by raking her nails down his chest, making him draw in his breath sharply. Narcissa took his shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it aside, exposing the eight red welts she had created over the twisting serpents.

Lucius looked back up at her, everything about his expression telling her that he was ready to play. "I'm certain I know of no one who fits that description," he said indifferently. 

Narcissa looked down at the noticeable swelling in the front of Lucius' trousers. "Salazar would beg to differ," she said, referring to Lucius' cock by their long-standing pet name for it. "He seems quite excited by our talking about your other lover..." She remembered the day that she had found out that was its name. She and Lucius had been enjoying a post-coital glow, a rare event in their often tumultuous relationship. Narcissa couldn't remember even how the conversation had come around to that, but she did remember asking why he called his cock _Salazar_. Lucius had smiled and said, _because of how he slithers in_. Narcissa had then hit him with her pillow, annoyed that she had fallen for what had clearly been a well-played set-up. Then they had laughed together, and then they had kissed each other, and then one thing had led to another...back then they still laughed together, well before the first Wizarding War. Lucius hadn't really laughed since then, only smiled...

Back in Narcissa's room, Lucius looked down as well. "Surely you must be mistaken, madame," he said, "Like his namesake, he only responds favorably to those of pure blood." He now looked back up at Narcissa. "Such as yourself, as an example." 

"You really must stop lying," Narcissa sighed. "It's almost as if you think I'm as gullible as the other women you've had while I've been locked up..."

"You know I don't think of you that way," Lucius said, his voice softening, although Narcissa noted that he didn't deny being with other people.

She drew herself up to her full height and fixed him with a forbidding glare. "Then tell me, Lucius, how _do_ you think of me?" she asked.

"As a queen, of course" Lucius answered easily. "As _my_ queen." He reached his hand up and touched her face. 

_Finally,_ Narcissa thought. She quickly grabbed his hand with both of hers and applied just enough pressure backwards on his wrist to put him to his knees. "Yes," Narcissa said. "And look at you: your posture now reflects the appropriate respect if that is truly how you see me, so it's no longer mere words." She wasn't applying enough force in her joint lock to cause any injury, just control, and perhaps some discomfort as well, but Lucius did not fight her. "Wouldn't you agree, darling?" she asked, smiling sweetly.

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, my queen."

"Excellent. I'm so pleased that we have this accord. After all, so much of you is words...lies...saying exactly the right thing to exactly the right person. Words are easy, aren't they? Carefully crafted in that devious mind of yours, spoken with perfect timing, perfect inflection and the world just plays right into your scheming hands. In point of fact, that's likely how you got your non-pedigreed tart to let you have her, not once, but I suspect time and time again. You told her what she wanted to hear, poured so much honeyed poison in her ears that it traveled down her young body to her legs, which I imagine spread quite gladly for you." Narcissa leaned down now and spoke softly in his ear. "But I'm not her, am I?"

Lucius shook his head. "No, my queen." Narcissa could see his rib cage move with his every breath, increasing whether from pain or excitement, she was unsure, probably both.

Narcissa smiled. "My queen," she echoed. "Like so many of your other words, it's easy enough to say that I'm your queen, knowing that after six weeks of isolating hell, of course you would want me to think that. Now, action...that's much more challenging, but I think, in your case, absolutely necessary to keep you from remaining the total monster that I'm sure you have become in my absence." Narcissa loosened her grip slightly. "I am going to let you up now, but before I do, I need you to agree to submit to the judgment and sanction of your queen. It's time to prove that what you're saying to me now is more than words, that there's actually meaning behind them. Do you agree?"

"Yes, my queen." 

Narcissa let him go. Lucius stood and then used his other hand to massage his wrist, all while glaring at her balefully. Narcissa's eyes lit up. "Oh, I can already see that you're not going into this in the right spirit at all," she scolded him. She approached Lucius once again and slowly circled him. "As it happens, that's absolutely fine. It just means that you need this far more than I initially thought." She stopped behind him and ran her hands up his back, moving her fingers over his shoulder blades and the tops of his shoulders lightly, gratified to see gooseflesh rise on his upper arms. 

Narcissa brought her hands back down over his back and then off to undo the tie of her dressing gown and open it. She moved her hands around his front now and teased his erection through his trousers, using her hands and her fingers to stroke his cock as she pressed her bare breasts against his back. "Do you want your queen?" she whispered as she massaged his cock.

Lucius tilted his head back and let out a shaky breath. "Yes," he said. 

Narcissa froze and removed her hands from him. "Yes...what?" she asked.

He dropped his head once again. "Yes, my queen."

"That's better," Narcissa purred, closing her gown and walking back in front of him. Lucius locked eyes with her as they faced each other. Narcissa frowned. "Don't you dare look in my eyes, my insolent slave," she hissed. Lucius immediately dropped his gaze. Narcissa walked behind him one more time and pulled the chair out from her vanity and turned it around, facing her bed. "Put your hands behind your back," she commanded. Lucius did as she asked, still keeping his eyes respectfully down. 

Narcissa approached him and, drawing it out to take as long as possible, undid his belt, before unzipping his trousers and letting them fall. He was hard and dripping for her already and Narcissa felt a thrill of power and arousal shoot straight through her pelvis. "Sit, slave," she said. 

Lucius sat in the chair, his hands now clasped in front of him. "Drop your hands," Narcissa said. He responded and dropped them to his sides. She stepped away from him and untied her robe. "Because you've acquiesced to the orders of your queen, _my_ orders, you may look upon my body." She then eased the robe off of her shoulders as Lucius' eyes traveled slowly up her body, naked lust in his gray eyes as he took in her long, black-stockinged legs, barely covered pussy, leather-clad waist and uncovered breasts. She ran her hand over her collarbones, and then between her breasts before sliding her fingers down one thigh.

"Thank you, my queen," Lucius breathed.

Narcissa nodded graciously. "Now," she said, businesslike. "We need to discuss your other lover and I'll need you to be honest, or you will feel your queen's wrath."

Lucius dropped his head once again. "Yes, my queen," he said.

She leaned over him. "Have you had her since the first time?" Narcissa asked. She caressed one breast with her hand, rubbing the nipple into arousal. Lucius watched her and she could see the tension build in his shoulders. Before he could answer, she traced her now-hard nipple over his lips. 

"Yes, my queen," he whispered against her breast. His tongue flicked out to her nipple and Narcissa gasped and pulled away from him, even though the gesture had lit a searing line straight between her legs.

"That was a liberty you were not given license to take," Narcissa said. 

"My apologies, my queen..."

"Do I have to gag you, slave?"

"No, my queen. It shall not happen again..."

"Not again, slave? Are you sure?"

Lucius paused. "Not without your leave, my queen."

Narcissa smiled as Lucius understood her. "Good." She moved back into place, once again running her nipple over his lips. "Now answer my question. Have you had her since the first time?"

"Yes, my queen."

"Suck." One word and Lucius complied, taking her nipple in his mouth and massaging it with his tongue, moaning. She let him do it, feeling her groin grow warm before pulling away. "That's enough, slave." She now moved to repeat with her other nipple. "How many times?" 

"Three times, my queen."

"Suck," she said again, and once more, Lucius took her nipple in his mouth before she took it back. "Are you enjoying your queen's body and favors so far?" she asked.

"Yes, my queen." His statement came out as an agonized moan. 

Narcissa stood back up. "Would you like to pleasure your queen?" she asked.

"Yes, my queen. I am your slave in all things." 

"That you most certainly are." Narcissa put her foot up on the arm of the chair and ran her fingers down the front of her sheer underwear. She was definitely wet. Lucius watched her, hypnotized. Delicately, Narcissa moved her underwear out of the way so he could see her innermost, glistening crevices. She used her burgundy-nailed fingers to spread herself apart. "Do you see my clitoris, slave? It's the primary center of my pleasure and a physical part of me that deserves the utmost care, respect, and attention. Beautiful, is it not?" 

"Yes, my queen."

"Kiss it." 

Lucius closed his eyes in rapture and pressed his lips to her clit, running his tongue over top of it, tasting her as both of them moaned. He kissed her again and again, using his tongue to dart across it with each caress as Narcissa ran the fingers of her other hand into his hair and gripped it hard, pushing her pelvis gently against his exploring mouth.

"Have you had her in this house?" she asked between breaths.

"Yes, my queen," Lucius murmured, coming away from her for a moment to speak the words before moving back in to lick and suck her clitoris. 

Narcissa removed her foot and her hands and stepped away. "That is..." she started, shaking her head. "That's despicable, slave," she finished, glaring at him.

Lucius looked down again. "Yes, my queen," he answered softly. 

Narcissa's eyes lit up with inspiration. "Do you know what _I_ would do with her in this house?" she asked.

Lucius now shook his head. "I do not, my queen," he said.

"She, too, would become my slave," Narcissa said with venom. Lucius looked up at her quickly, shock in his gray eyes, before remembering himself and dropping his eyes once again. Narcissa paused. "No, allow me to amend that. You are my only slave and so that would make her...my maid." She moved to his side and spoke in his ear once more. "And would you like your queen to tell you what sorts of things she would have her maid do?"

Lucius swallowed. "Yes, my queen," he said, his voice hoarse.

Narcissa stood and smiled slightly. "Very well. Because I am nothing if not merciful, I'm going to sit on my bed and share this with you. As for you, you may consider it your great privilege to sit over there and merely listen." She then glared at him in warning. "However, you may not, under any circumstances, arouse yourself without my leave."

"Thank you, my queen." 

Narcissa sat on the bed letting her thighs drift apart just slightly. Lucius watched her, waiting, his cock hard, his breathing rapid. Narcissa tilted her head to the side as she appraised him. "She _is_ pretty, I will grant you that: soft skin, firm breasts, a tight rear end...and a willingness and generosity with her body that is the hallmark of many a Muggle-born girl, wouldn't you say? Not so uppity as many pureblood witches." Much of what Narcissa was saying was generated by simply having known Lucius well and for a long time. Although he would have died sooner than admit it, he had always fancied Muggle-born witches, chiefly for the reasons Narcissa was stating, or else he just relished the thought of slumming it while he was with them, or else he just really liked to fuck. Narcissa reflected it was probably the last, more than anything else. 

Narcissa sighed. "Anyway, I'd call her over to me and have her sit, just here, next to me. I'd start by stroking her hand as I told her that she has nothing to fear from her queen, that I'm really quite gentle, at least with my maids, if not with my slaves. And of course, she'd be shy and stammering and might not believe me because surely you must agree that I'm glorious in the apex of my power. She'd blush at my bared body, even though it's not unlike her own in terms of anatomy. Her face would color in beholding the slave I had immobilized in a chair, watching us. I'd tell her not to pay attention to him, that he is only an instrument of my pleasure... _our_ pleasure." 

As she spoke, Narcissa ran one hand between her breasts and circled it back around, just teasing her own nipple gently with her fingers. "Then I would kiss her, feeling those soft lips against mine, lips that have no doubt found yours and have closed around your hard cock many times." She looked over to Lucius and saw that he was white-knuckling the chair, as his cock throbbed with each beat of his heart. 

Narcissa lifted an eyebrow in response. "I'm just talking about kissing, nothing even terribly adult, nothing that would even get you into trouble at Hogwarts, and yet, look at you...interested in such a profoundly vulgar way." She took a deep breath. "Curious, my maid would let her mouth open just slightly under mine, just enough for me to tease those soft lips with my tongue. Tentatively, she would meet my tongue with hers. Of course, her eyes would drift over to you in your prison, wondering what it might be like were you to join us, but knowing that she can't ask; it's not her place as you are my slave, not hers. Besides, she's just the maid and that it is first and foremost your responsibility to pleasure your queen.

"I'd have her take off all of her clothes so I could see those young curves that have had my slave so entranced. She'd stand there, facing away from you so you could see her rear end, but her breasts and pussy would be mine to behold. Then, I would say that it was nearly time for my slave to pleasure me, but it was her job as my maid to ready me for you." Now Narcissa ran her hands down her breasts, massaging both of her nipples at the same time. "I'd have her suck and lick my nipples, and again, her caresses would be respectful, tentative, but always eager to please. I'd tell her that she was going a fine job, but that it is my pussy that would need to be dripping wet for my slave's cock to enter. She would acquiesce, moving her pink tongue between my parted nether lips, tasting me all while making me that much wetter." Narcissa parted her legs slightly and ran her fingers over the front of her underwear before looking back over at Lucius whose hands remained clasped around the sides of the chair, forearms straining with tension. Narcissa smirked and turned up the heat. "I imagine at this point, my sweet maid would be bent over me on the bed, giving you a merciful if scant glance from behind at her own tempting opening, just waiting for a slave cock to explore it. As you watch her, you can just imagine how it would feel to push your cock between my beautiful maid's spread labia." Narcissa watched as Lucius systematically tensed and relaxed his thigh muscles in a desperate attempt at stimulating his no-doubt aching cock. 

Narcissa paused in her narrative for a moment. It wasn't even that she wanted Granger in any capacity; she just knew what would drive Lucius to the very brink of his sexual control and she relished pushing him to the limits of his capacity. "I can see that you're enjoying my story, slave, and you've been remarkably disciplined in keeping your hands out of trouble. To reward your obedience, you have my permission to use a hand, one hand only, to stroke yourself, but you are forbidden to come. The only priority your cock has lies in pleasuring your queen. You must never, ever come before your queen. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my queen. Thank you, my queen." Lucius' words were pressured as he let go of the chair with his right hand, which Narcissa noted with delight, now possessed a very slight tremor. Lucius clasped his hand around his cock and just squeezed and relaxed a few times, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing deeply through his nose in an attempt no doubt to center himself. When he was ready, he looked back towards Narcissa. Meanwhile, she had slid her underwear down and tossed them to him. Lucius took his hand off of his cock to catch them. He brought them to his face and breathed in deeply, his eyes closed. He then put them aside and took his cock once more, slowly stroking it as he used its own pre-cum as lubricant. 

Narcissa now lay back on the bed on her back and used her fingers to massage her own clitoris, spreading her legs wide so that Lucius would have a good view of what she was doing. "Anyway," she continued. "My maid's tongue would soak my pussy even more. I would ask my maid if she ever used her own fingers to pleasure herself, perhaps while bathing or late at night, under the covers in secret. She would hesitate before answering, which I would perceive as an answer in and of itself. I would tell her that it's perfectly natural and also that it was safe to tell me and then she would admit it, blushing charmingly as she did." Narcissa now put her fingers up into her own pussy and drew them out, slippery with her own desire. She showed them to Lucius as he stroked himself, breathing harder. "I would then tell her that I was ready for you, but that I wanted her to finger herself while watching us. Being the magnanimous queen that I am, and to reward her eager compliance, I would generously offer my slave to pleasure her next, once I was sated." 

Narcissa rolled over now and got out a favored sex toy, a smooth, black, enchanted dildo with several functions. She activated it by putting it in her mouth, licking and sucking to get it wet, all while running her fingers in and out of her pussy. She then rolled onto her back once more, moved the dildo between her parted legs, and slid it into herself before letting it go. She looked back to Lucius. "Finally, when I was wet and ready, I would let you up so you could perform your function. You'd kneel on the bed between my spread legs and slowly, ever so slowly, push your cock into me." The dildo now thrust into her of its own volition and Narcissa felt herself respond as she stroked her clit with one hand, increasing the steady tide of pressure that built deep within her core. 

She maintained eye contact with Lucius, seeing that he was putting all his willpower into not coming. Narcissa started to breathe harder as the dildo slid in and out of her ready pussy. "Obviously, it would be your pleasure and obligation as my slave to focus on me," she said between breaths, "but you'd have little choice but to gaze upon this this wanton, naked maid waiting next to me, fingering that tight, wet cunt of hers all while watching you fuck your queen with longing in her eyes. She'd be biting her lip, naughtily stroking her clit as your eyes met, getting wetter and wetter all while wondering when it would be her turn with my slave, how it would feel when he shoved his cock into her willing pussy instead." 

Narcissa could feel herself getting close, but before she came, she pulled the dildo out and set it aside. "You would like to please your queen now, wouldn't you?" she asked.

"Yes, my queen," Lucius said, releasing his hand from his cock. 

"Approach the bed," Narcissa said.

Lucius got up. "Yes, my queen," he said, walking over to her. 

"Finger me, slave," Narcissa ordered.

"As my queen commands." Lucius sat next to her and reached his hand up between her thighs. He ran his fingers over her waiting slit, stroking softly before pushing his index finger into her and curving it back around. Narcissa put her hands behind her head and watched him as he ran the fingers of his other hand over her swollen clit, gentle and slow at first, and then gradually building up speed. Narcissa just caught a moan from escaping her throat, determined not to let Lucius think that he was gaining power over her; he must never think that in this situation, or really in any situation.

"That's good, slave," she whispered as her pelvis tightened. "I shall reward your skill and devotion by letting you taste me..."

"You honor me, my queen." 

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Yes," she snapped. "Yes, I do, slave. Now, put your mouth to a better use than flattering me."

Lucius suppressed a smile as he took his hands off of her and moved between her legs. 

"You must lick me until I come, slave. I shall accept nothing less than your best in all things."

"As my queen commands." Lucius was good at many things, not the least of which was giving head. As he had with his hands, he started slowly, caressing her clit with his tongue and lips as she spread herself for him. He would periodically pause to lick her from the bottom of her pussy, taking a second to penetrate her with his tongue before ending back at her clit once again. He would suck her clit for a little while longer before repeating his grander exploration once more. He did it two more times before focusing on her clit in earnest. 

At this point, he added a finger back in, running it up and down her now dripping pussy as his mouth expertly worked on her clitoris, building her pleasure as she breathed in and out. Lucius now dipped his finger slowly into her, up one knuckle, and then two, and then to the hilt as Narcissa moaned. He then drew his finger back and pushed it back in. He ran his finger over her responsive walls, never slackening his pace with his mouth on her clit. Narcissa reached up and caressed her own nipples with her fingers, just enough to push her over the edge. She cried out as her orgasm overtook her, overwhelming her with its onslaught of pleasure. She hadn't come since well before St. Mungo's and even then, it had been with her toy, not with her husband. In addition to that, the constant torpor of Draught of Peace dulled everything, including sexual pleasure. 

Narcissa finally caught her breath. "You've done well, slave," she said. "And your queen shall reward you. Lie down." 

"Thank you, my queen." Lucius moved from between her legs and lay on his back. 

Narcissa moved to his side. "I shall pleasure you with my own mouth," she said as she reached between his legs to stroke his rigid cock confidently with one hand. Lucius closed his eyes. "But you must not come. If I see you becoming too aroused by what I'm doing, I shall punish you. Open your eyes." Lucius did, looking at her. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, my queen."

"Good." Narcissa now moved between his legs, still keeping one hand on his cock. She started by licking the salty pre-cum from the head, lightly, just barely touching his skin. She moved her tongue in a circle around the head of his cock, again keeping her touch light before caressing its smooth surface with her lips. Out of her peripheral vision, Narcissa could see Lucius' breathing increase. She pushed more her mouth more fully onto the head of his cock, but used her hand as a stop, never going down farther than the head. Lucius tightened his rear in an attempt to push up against her.

Narcissa stopped immediately and took both her mouth and her hands off of him. "What do you think you're doing, slave?" she asked, making her voice tight with fury.

Lucius opened his eyes once more and looked at her and Narcissa could see the calculation going on there, before Lucius spoke with predictable flattery. "My queen's proficiency is without peer and I forgot myself. I beg my queen's forgiveness..."

"Silence, slave," Narcissa said sharply. "You do _not_ have my leave to push your cock up into my mouth. I have little use for slaves who lack discipline. Now, let's try this again." 

"Yes, my queen."

Narcissa clasped his cock in her hand again. She picked up where she had left, taking just the head of his cock in her mouth, but now easing her tongue between her hand and his cock, moving it in a circle, caught in the tight space created by her grip. Lucius moaned. Narcissa now moved down the shaft with both her hands and her mouth, taking his cock fully into her mouth, feeling it slide over tongue and the roof of her mouth to gently bump the back of her throat before coming back out again. She now sucked his cock while easing her hand up and down at the same time. Her hand slipped easily over his flesh as she stroked him more quickly now. She heard his breathing become rapid and shallow and he now pushed up into her mouth again. Once again, Narcissa stopped and moved away from him. 

Lucius let out a shaky breath but, to his credit, said nothing even though he was no doubt fully cognizant that Narcissa was frustrating him on purpose Lucius knew better than to make a sound: it had no doubt occurred to him that he was in this exact situation because of things that he had said, so knew that silence was a quality prized in a slave, particularly one as wayward as he had been. "I specifically instructed you not to do that," Narcissa said coldly. 

"Apologies, my queen," Lucius said through gritted teeth. 

Narcissa sighed as she reached for her wand. "You leave me little choice, slave. Thus far I've been quite lenient with you but now I see that my forbearance has yielded little more than an impatient cur of a slave."

"Your clemency is matched only by your beauty, my queen."

"Shut...up," Narcissa growled as she pointed her wand at him. " _Cama incarcera_." Her bed sheets now wrapped tightly around Lucius wrists and ankle, holding his body tight in an _X_. "Much better. That should strengthen your resolve somewhat." 

"Thank you, my queen," Lucius said. 

Narcissa put her wand away and sat on the bed next to him. She stroked his chest now with one hand, moving it over the serpents and thorns. "I'm going to take you now, slave," she said. "Even though you do not deserve it. I'm going to ride your cock until I come again...and again...and again...as many times as I please until I tire of the pleasure it can bring me." She moved her hand back to his now slick cock and stroked it. "And if it does, indeed, give me pleasure, I shall reward you by letting you come in your turn." She leaned down to speak in his ear, letting her lips barely brush it as she did: "If you're especially good, I'll let you come inside of me, let that slave seed of yours drip down your queen's newly-fucked walls." Lucius' cock twitched under her hand as she said this, and she knew that this was the hardest she had ever tested his ability to control himself. 

Narcissa kicked off her boots now and straddled him. She stroked his cock up and down her sex, teasing him before she pushed his cock into her and relaxed onto him, letting him fill her. A shiver ran up her spine. She waited for just a moment, just enjoying the feel of his cock in her. Because it had been a while, she had forgotten how it felt to have that empty place filled, how every part of her pulsed with desire, before she even started to move. But move she did, first slowly, letting Lucius' cock slide in and out as her clit met his pubic bone. 

She knew it wouldn't be long before she would come, and she used her fingers lightly, but quickly on her clit as she rode him, pressing her hips to his as she stroked herself faster. She rode him with more intensity now, feeling the tension build. Once again, she let her orgasm rush into her, stealing her breath with its intensity. She slowed once it abated, but only for a moment before she sped up, stimulated her clit with her fingers and had a third on top of the second. She could come over and over like this, especially when she was so hugely aroused by the power with which she used him. She stopped after the fourth because there came a point where they became shorter and more intense to the extent of no longer being enjoyable. When she was younger, she had had ten in a row on her own, just to see how many she could have, but found that past five or six, they had almost become painful, so now she typically stopped between two and three.

"You have pleased your queen greatly, slave," Narcissa said between breaths. She continued to ride him slowly. "You may now come as you will it, but before you do, I have one final question."

"Anything, my queen."

"Do you love her?"

Lucius looked at her sharply before his expression relaxed. "No, Narcissa," he said, dropping the pretense. "I do not. I've never loved anyone but you." It was nothing less than she had expected, but she still felt relief and tenderness towards Lucius for saying it out loud, and she believed him. 

"Very well," Narcissa said, speeding up. She ground her hips into his, pushing his cock into her faster and faster. As she did, she leaned over and kissed his neck until she heard him start to come, at which point she used her teeth, biting the meat of his trapezius, low enough not to leave a mark. She knew from long experience that especially in this situation, inflicting pain at the peak of his pleasure would push his orgasm into another dimension entirely, a reality that was borne out in his cries of pleasure, never so loud as when he either was experiencing pain, whether it was his or his partner's. For Lucius, pain and pleasure were inextricably linked. Not that he couldn't enjoy getting his cock wet; after all, he was a man, but pain spiced up with sex and vice versa was why he, or rather Salazar, got up in the morning. 

What was more, Narcissa knew it and used it accordingly. After Lucius had spent himself inside of her, Narcissa climbed off of him and shimmied up to his chest so her pelvis was level with his face. As a final act, she inserted her fingers into her pussy once more, drawing his cum out on them before licking them off in front of him. Narcissa knew it was a kink particular to Lucius and he sighed in rapture watching her. When she was finished, she climbed off him and found her wand. " _Finite incantatum,_ " she said and the bed sheets loosened.

When they did, Narcissa lay her head down on Lucius' outstretched arm and looked at his face. He looked at her in turn, smiling, and for a moment, she felt like she had when they were first married, before Voldemort, the war, the Death Eaters, and prison had made him into whatever he was now. Even Narcissa wasn't sure. She knew him better than almost anyone alive did, with the possible exception of his long-time friend Severus, but on occasion, she still felt as if she was only privy to the merest tip of the iceberg. 

Lucius turned his head and kissed her forehead. "I do love you, you know," he said.

Narcissa sighed and turned now to face him. "I know you do, as I love you. And I'm not terribly concerned about Granger."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Nor should you be. She's a plaything; I suspect even she knows that."

Narcissa froze. "You suspect? Have you not made that clear to her?" she asked.

Lucius smirked. "I have in so many words," he answered. 

It was the careful, calculated sort of answer that struck fear into Narcissa's heart. She rolled up on an elbow. "Lucius, if you convince her that she's falling for you or you her, you've endangered us all."

"Surely you must not believe me so charming as all that," Lucius admonished her. 

"Yes, you're nothing if not charming," Narcissa said flatly. "As I said before we ever started, you know what to say and how and when to say it. You have no business convincing her that you love her, or convincing her that she loves you. No good can possibly come of it." Lucius looked away from her now, uneasy under Narcissa's piercing stare. "Please tell me that I have nothing to worry about, that our marriage, that our family has nothing to fear from this plaything of yours."

Lucius sat up. "As I told you, Narcissa, I have never loved anyone but you." Narcissa found that Lucius couldn't meet her eyes now as he said this.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked, now sitting up as well. "Look at me, Lucius." 

He did, and Narcissa saw an uncertainty there that inexplicably terrified her. "She may have inadvertently called the Dark Lord to our estate," Lucius said quietly.

" _What?_ " Narcissa couldn't believe her ears. Her husband baiting an infatuated young witch for the purposes of sexual gratification was one thing; his inviting her to their home only to have her bring unspeakable danger down on all of them was something else entirely.

"It was an accident," Lucius said defensively. "She never meant to do it, and she got rid of him, very cleverly I might add, in a ruse involving Muggle law enforcement. Honestly, I've never seen the like..." He now smiled and Narcissa wanted to hit him. 

"Get rid of her, Lucius," Narcissa said dangerously.

"Surely you can't be jealous," Lucius said, stroking her hair with one hand. "Not after that spectacular feat of sexual acrobatics and psychological torture with which you just gifted me..."

She batted his hand away. "Once again making it about you. Jealousy isn't remotely what this is about." Narcissa paused, fuming. "She's a liability, Lucius. You know, your cock is going to get all of us killed one of these days, starting with you."

Lucius continued to smile at her, non-plussed. "You _are_ jealous, but you needn't be. Besides, I have perfect control over the situation. It won't happen again."

Narcissa shook her head. "You're fooling no one but yourself, you know. I don't care that you're fucking her. I truly don't. I don't even care that you're spending time with her, even that you may care for her on some level. I know you far too well to let a silly thing like that upset me. But if you let her in too deep, she's going to get you killed." Narcissa took a deep breath. "Look, I know she broke in here. I know she used magic and cleverness to do so, just as she used magic and cleverness to blackmail you, and used magic and cleverness to extricate the Weasley girl. I've spoken with her; she's cunning and ruthless and brilliant, and all the things you find attractive in a witch, but make no mistake, Lucius, she is without a doubt the biggest threat of a mistress you've ever taken."

Lucius sighed. "I can unequivocally assure you, Narcissa, I'm completely in control of her. I've told her virtually nothing, and I intend to keep it that way."

"End it, Lucius. Sate your pleasure with her a few more times if you truly can't help yourself, and then break it off, if not for your sake, or for my sake even, then for hers." Narcissa softened and touched his arm, looking into his eyes. "What do you imagine will happen if the Dark Lord find out that this Mudblood, this friend to Harry Potter of all people, as well as Dumbledore's one-time Head Girl, has become your lover? If he believes that she is in any way important to you, don't think for a second that he won't use that against you." She changed her tack. "Did your meeting with the Dark Lord go well?" she asked.

Lucius' eyes met hers, fear in them for just a second before they adopted their typical chill. "It could have gone worse. I didn't have to drop the wards, and I let him know at least verbally that I'm loyal to him."

"Nonetheless, if--excuse me, _when_ \--he seeks truly to control you--" Lucius went to speak, but Narcissa cut off whatever he would have said, "And he _will,_ Lucius, make no mistake, he'll now have yet another relatively innocent person through whom to do it, a vulnerability. This is exactly the reason you banished Draco, do you not remember? The Dark Lord will capture your mistress, torture her, have his Death Eaters rape her, one after another...all in front of your eyes, all because of your decisions, all because of your stubbornness in not letting her go, and you won't even be able to defend her because she is, after all, a Mudblood, and an enemy one at that." 

Narcissa smiled at him sadly. "But that's not even the worst of it. The worst shall come next, when the Dark Lord tells you that it's your turn to rape, torture, and then kill this enemy Mudblood. Of course, you won't be able to, and not because you're some pillar of mercy, but because you literally can't, because you've sworn an Unbreakable Vow not to. So, there you'll stand, immobile, as the Dark Lord no doubt wonders why his most loyal servant is balking at what otherwise would be a perfectly appropriate command for a Death Eater to follow. Is that what you want for her or for you?"

Lucius hung his head, letting his hair fall around his face. "No," he said, almost inaudibly. He looked back up finally, his gray eyes now full of pain. "But to be fair, it's also not something I would wish for you, to be tortured, raped, or killed by my fellow Death Eaters on the Dark Lord's command or otherwise."

Narcissa waved her hand impatiently. "How appallingly short your memory is, slave. I'm a warrior queen, remember? I'll be fine. I know what I signed up for when I married you. I chose you with my eyes wide open, knowing that I was knitting my soul to a Dark Wizard, a Death Eater Marked by the Dark Lord himself." She looked away, reflecting. "You forget, Lucius, that I come from a family of Dark Wizards as well, with all the pain and brutality inherent therein." She looked back at him. "But you have a responsibility to spare Granger all that. You know you do, magnified greatly by this Vow you've taken. You call her your plaything, but I know you too well. You care for her. How could you not? She's everything you like: beautiful, young, clever, cunning, and unwilling to withstand your casually cruel nonsense. That said, if you care for her as I believe you do, you need to cut her loose."

Lucius squeezed his eyes shut and massaged them with one hand before dropping his hand and looking at Narcissa one more time. "I can't do it yet. But eventually, Narcissa, I promise." He got up and put his trousers back on and shrugged back into his shirt. 

Narcissa sighed in disgust. "Then you're a short-sighted, reckless fool. Get out of my sight."

"As my queen commands," Lucius said. He bowed to her slightly before going to her door and letting himself out, giving her one more smirk in the process. Narcissa picked up a boot and threw it at the door, where it made a satisfying but not damaging crash before falling back to the floor. She lay back on her bed and stared at her sky-enchanted ceiling as she had a thousand other times as an icy slab of foreboding slid into her heart.


	16. 43: Investigation; 44: The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny starts work at the Ministry of Magic and is immediately assigned to a bone-chilling case. She finds an unlikely ally in former Death Eater and sometimes-Auror Lucius Malfoy. In uncovering the case, Ginny makes a heart-breaking discovery. Hermione also starts work at the Ministry of Magic in the chaotic Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her work also forces her to cross paths with Lucius Malfoy, who gives her a titillating gift on her first day. Later, she is forced to confront her feelings for him, finding them far more powerful than she could have imagined.
> 
> _Now Hermione was the one to kiss him, his neck, under his jaw, his ear, her tongue tasting his skin. Her longing for Lucius was passionate almost to the point of scaring her. There was nowhere else in the entire realm of Merlin that she would rather be in this moment and the implications of that were staggering to her, but she didn't dare dwell on them in that moment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that these last few have taken so long to go up. I am still writing new content, and next chapter will likely be that way as well, and following that, I'll be back to stuff I've already written, so it shouldn't be quite so long between chapters. I also have to apologize for anyone who reads these things in the first 24 hours that they go up. I post generally late at night, and stupid stuff gets missed, so I go back the next day, when I'm more rested and fix things, all while thinking "who dafuq proof-read this? Oh yeah, me...badly." But I digress. So, I listen to music as I write and I don't mind telling you, because I have zero taste, that the one that was in my head and that I listened to (ironically...mostly) during Chapter 44 was, among other things, _2 Become 1_ by the Spice Girls, which, incidentally, came out the year before the chapter is set, so there you go. Here, if you want inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FA5jsa1lR9c 
> 
> See if you can catch the bit about condom use. We can't all participate in Purity Descending, you know...

CHAPTER 43: INVESTIGATION

The Monday following Hermione's visit to the Burrow also marked Ginny's first day interning in the Auror office and so, early that morning, she found herself waiting patiently in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic for someone to come and collect her and show her where to go. Ginny had submitted her wand to the reception desk and received a name tag that read _Visitor_. Not even her name, just _Visitor_ , as the machine had run out of ink while printing her badge and the reception witch had told her apologetically that she could not have another one until the following day due to the bureaucratic magic that powered the device. Ginny was kind to the reception witch because it was hardly her fault, but frankly, the badge was an embarrassment and as Ginny sat on the black stone bench, she turned her body in such a way that she hoped no one could actually read it. 

Ginny's father had walked her in via the telephone box route of course, as she wasn't yet credentialed for the normal entrance, and of course, this was the reason for the mortifying badge. He had given her a bracing one-armed hug, wished her luck, and then had strode cheerfully in the direction of his own office. Ginny had arrived 20 minutes early, having felt somewhat chagrined at the impression she had given Rufus Scrimgeour the day of the Vow, and was hoping to create a better one with whomever would be her immediate boss. Because she had arrived so early, and because she had little else to do, Ginny looked around the lobby. 

At ten past eight in the morning, the lobby of the Ministry of Magic was a bustling place: goblin bankers in navy blue pinstripes mixed with Unspeakables in their purple robes, all bustling along with a few harried-looking wizards and witches bearing various charmed pet carriers, clearly members of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione's new department. Some of the carriers spit sparks, some emitted pink smoke, and one even dripped lime green sludge on the smooth black ombre tiles of the floor, sludge that burned holes where it landed. The poor wizard bearing this carrier was moving fast indeed, calling "make way, he's a dangerous one, he is, make way..." Other wizards and witches gave him a wide berth. A courier trailed him, his wand drawn, muttering " _Reparo...reparo...reparo..._ " in a frantic attempt to fix the floor in the wake. Ginny suppressed a grin at this entourage.

"What's so funny, Visitor?" 

Ginny whipped around, startled. A wizard stood over her with his arms folded. He had close-cropped black hair with just the beginning sprinkles of salt that marked maturity and deep furrows on his forehead and between his piercing blue eyes. They were the eyes of a bird of prey, eyes that missed nothing. Ginny couldn't be sure of his exact age, but she would guess that it ranged from 35-45. From what she'd heard, Aurorship aged people quickly and Ginny assumed that this wizard was in fact an Auror, because who else would have incentive to talk to her, particularly in such a pugnacious manner? Ginny stood up fast and straightened her robes. "Ginny Weasley," she said, putting her hand out automatically. As she stood, she noted that the wizard was only an inch or so taller than her, but under his gray and black robes, he was built like a brick with broad shoulders and short, powerful limbs. 

The wizard eyed her outstretched hand disdainfully. "Look at you, all polite," he said, not even cracking a smile. "Rule Number One of being an Auror, _Visitor_ : don't touch anyone. Ever. For any reason, unless you can't possibly help it." He unfolded one arm and held up his second two digits. "Two words: contact poison." His speech was clipped and efficient as if he were being charged for the time each took to leave his mouth.

Ginny colored and dropped her hand, cursing inwardly. It was a rookie mistake and even she knew better. It was all nerves, but in this one simple gaffe, Ginny had kissed the opportunity to make a good first impression goodbye. The wizard turned from her and walked down the hall against the crowd and Ginny noted that the crowd split for him. "Do you have a name?" Ginny asked, hurrying after him.

He turned and stopped. The crowd moved around them as if they were stones in a river. "They call me Robards. Gawain Robards." He pronounced it ro-BAHR, the way a French Wizard might. Ginny had heard of him. He had helped take down Antonin Dolohov after Dolohov had fled following the Department of Mysteries battle. Robards had folded his arms once again. "The _D_ is silent and so is the _S_. Call me Robar- _dz_ and we'll be sure to have interpersonal problems. Besides, that's _Auror_ Robards to you. Rule Number Two, Visitor. Don't ever give up your real name." Robards started moving once again. "If they get your real name, they have power over you."

"Who are they, Auror Robar _dz_?" Ginny asked, deliberately adding the _D_ and the _S_. He might be an Auror and a member of the training cadre but Ginny had six elder brothers and knew how to push back against petty intimidation, which this clearly was.

Once more Robards stopped. He turned to her, his movements also bird-like and sharp. "That's not my name," he said coldly. 

Ginny stopped as well and folded her arms, mimicking Robards' previous posture. "Just as mine's not _Visitor_ ," she explained. "As a point of interest, it's also not Ginny. Ginny is what people call me, but it's not my true name. That one I already knew, as it happens." She smiled blandly and waited for him to respond.

Robards blinked, taken aback. He recovered quickly and scowled at her. "Fine then...Intern Weasley," he finally conceded. Once again, he started walking and Ginny smiled in victory behind his back. " _They_ are enemies, Unseelie Fey, even some Seelie Fey, come to think of it, Dark Wizards..." His eyes flicked upwards once and then a second time in quick succession. "Speaking of which, get on my other side," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Ginny did as she was bid and looked in the direction that Robards was looking.

It was Lucius Malfoy, walking down the hallway towards them. He looked at Ginny for only a moment, and then straight ahead as if she was no more compelling than the Witch and Wizard of the Month posters enchanted onto the smooth, black tile wall behind her. Lucius didn't look at Robards at all as he passed by them going the other direction. Robards looked after him wistfully. "I wish I'd been the one to take him in," he said with yearning in his voice.

Ginny frowned. It seemed that not all the Auror cadre knew of Lucius' involvement with them, which was strange if Lucius' loyalty to the Ministry was, in fact, feigned. One would think that if Lucius' public front of being a former Death Eater wasn't authentic, he'd want to make his involvement with the Auror office as public as possible, but Ginny had been forced to sign a statement of non-disclosure, which was also strange choice if Lucius was merely using it as a smokescreen. 

Ginny had to concede that since speaking with Hermione, the seeds of niggling doubt had started eating at her conscience where Lucius was concerned. She had turned that particular conversation over and over in her mind since having it with Hermione over the weekend, as well as her conversation with Lucius the day of the Vow. In sum, what had bothered her most was Scrimgeour's demeanor that day. Scrimgeour was hardly sycophantic with Lucius, nor did he seem intimidated by him, but rather annoyed with him or barely tolerant of him, not acting at all like someone who had been bought by Lucius.

Ginny decided to probe gently at Robards' intelligence. "You don't care for him, I take it?" she started.

Robards stopped a third time and fixed her with a glare so icy, Ginny could almost feel the chill coming off of it. "Do you know how many Aurors he killed in the first Wizarding War?"

"Allegedly, none," Ginny said. 

Robards rolled his eyes, such a practiced gesture that Ginny surmised he did it often. "Rule Number Four, Weasley, assume nothing, question everything. He is one of the most distrusted wizards in the Ministry." Robards started moving once again, before opening a door and ushering her through.

Ginny slipped past him, into another hallway, this one empty of people. "All right, then," she said. "Here's a question: if he is so distrusted, why was he let out of Azkaban?"

"I'm sure he bought someone off," Robards replied, his mouth in a tight line.

Ginny raised an eyebrow before Robards moved around her, farther down the hallway. "Who? Surely not Scrimgeour?"

Robards snorted. "Scrimgeour trusts him less than all the other Aurors combined and in fact is the one with sole surveillance on him."

Ginny persevered. "But everyone knows it was Scrimgeour who pardoned him. Who's a higher law in our world than the Minister of Magic?"

"The Wizengamot, for a start." 

"The Wizengamot," Ginny echoed. "The same Wizengamot headed up by known Muggle-lover Albus Dumbledore...let known Muggle- _hater_ and notorious Death Eater Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban on an early release?" In questioning and thinking it through, Ginny's doubt grew. 

Robards took out his wand and put it in some sort of fancy scanning device at a huge bolted steel door at the end of the hallway. The magic powering its wards almost took Ginny's breath away with its intensity. Robards ignored it completely and Ginny supposed that after a few weeks she would likely be used to it as well. After a few seconds, the device turned Robards' wand back over, the bolts around the door slid back, and the door slowly opened with a hiss. Once again, Robards led her through. "You've been here five minutes," he said crossly. "I don't think it's up to you to question it. Besides, Dumbledore is not the only member of the Wizengamot." 

"Question everything, assume nothing," Ginny muttered.

Robards rounded on her. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Ginny answered. The steel door shut behind them with another hiss, closing them in. They stood in an office. There was no reception witch or wizard. In fact, there was no one inside at all, just neat desks and a map of England on the back wall with red, glowing lines and luminescent scrawlings on it. Next to that was a door that said: _K. Shacklebolt, Department Head, Auror Division._

The desk closest to the bathroom stood completely devoid of anything. Robards crossed over to it. "This'll be you, then," he said. He opened one drawer and got out a massive spiral-bound book. Its cover read, _Auror Policies and Procedures: Third Revision, Second Edition_. "Sit and read this," Robards ordered. "The morning briefing will start in one hour, and I have things to do other than babysit." 

It was a cheap shot not worthy of any sort of response, so Ginny sat down at the desk and opened the book without another word and started to read. The first chapter was about legal grounds for detaining a wizard or witch without his or her consent. It was dull, but Ginny knew that it was important, so paid attention to what she was reading. She read the Rights of the Detainee ten times through and then, finding a quill and some parchment of her new desk, wrote them down. She then wrote them down again. And again. 

"Briefing," Robards startled Ginny out of her fourth go-around by rapping his knuckles firmly on the desk. He smirked at her. "Rule Five," he said, "Stay alert, stay alive." Ginny closed the book and followed Robards to the center of the room, where all the other Aurors had now convened. Ginny saw Tonks, who grinned and waved at her and Ginny felt a surge of gratitude for a friendly face before the room fell silent as Shacklebolt's door opened and he emerged. He carried a gravitas and authority about him that put an almost electrical charge into the room. His presence seemed to solidify the Aurors into a corp from the two dozen individuals standing around him.

"Good morning," Shacklebolt said in his smooth, deep voice. Without waiting for a response, he put a dossier on the closest desk and started his briefing. "First, sightings of V. have been noted in Wiltshire by a few witches and wizards and several Muggles." There was a general intake of breath and some mutterings. "Silence if you please," Shacklebolt intoned and immediately the room quelled. "Aurors Dawlish and Williamson, you shall liase with the Magical Law Enforcement and Muggle Relations departments to gather more information." Shacklebolt handed a paper to Dawlish from the dossier and the two assigned Aurors broke off and headed down the hall. Ginny wasn't surprised; that was an important assignment so it was only natural that Shacklebolt would give it to two of the most seasoned staff.

Shacklebolt shuffled through the dossier. "Next is a report of increased Giant activity in Switzerland. It may be nothing, but Aurors Tonks and Savage, you have a meeting at nine o'clock with the Department of International Magical Cooperation." He handed Tonks a paper as well, and she and Savage broke off and headed down the hall as well. Two by two, the rest of the Aurors received their assignments, until only Robards and Ginny were left.

Shacklebolt smiled at her. "Intern Weasley, welcome," he said. 

"Thank you, sir," she returned, remembering this time not to offer her hand. 

Shacklebolt kept his smile for one more moment before pulling out the last piece of parchment from the dossier. "Auror Robards, Intern Weasley, your assignment is a series of mysterious illnesses at St. Mungo's." He handed the paper to Robards. "Your contact is going to be Healer Maracus, the lead Magical Malady Epidemiologist. His job, Intern Weasley, is to find commonalities in presentations of patients to the hospital; your job is to discern whether or not these patterns indicate the presence of foul play." 

Ginny nodded. 

"Good luck." Shacklebolt smiled fleetingly once more and then grabbed the dossier and disappeared back into his office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Robards scanned the parchment quickly and then handed it to Ginny. It was a series of abstracts from case reports, all over the last three months or so, each more gruesome than the last:

_Patient 1: 43, F, brought in by Mediwizards from the field, aura pale blue, exsanguinating from multiple anatomical openings. Denies any underlying hæmatological maladies or magical disturbances involving blood. Able to be salvaged using high-dose Blood-Stimulating Potion in large, cyclical infusions on Days 1, 4, 7, and 10 of 14 x2*, with close observation. Unable to be healed with spells._

_*this is considered an off-label, experimental use of this potion, and this report has also been submitted in full to Clinical Potion Trial A278-B8, Healer M. Marchbanks key researcher._

_Patient 2: 55, M, self-presented at reception, aura pale blue. Exsanginating from accidentally self-inflicted knife wound to proximal aspect of left first digit; bleeding copious, pulsatile, and bright red despite being only 2cm long x 2mm deep and in a peripheral location remote from any known arteries of significance. Denies any underlying hæmatological maladies or magical disturbances involving blood. Limb not able to be salvaged despite multiple applications of Bernard's Hemostop Topical Preparation Potion and direct pressure. Life able to be salvaged with magical amputation of affected digit proximal to injury. Primary laceration unable to be healed with spells._

_Patient 3: 34, M, self-presented at reception. Aura pale blue. Upon examination, noted to have numerous, rapidly-expanding, non-blanchable ecchymotic areas to legs, arms, torso, and back. Denied trauma to those areas. Unable to determine patient's history of maladies, whether hæmatological or otherwise, as patient progressed rapidly into hæmodynamic instability and severe spiritual compromise. Life able to be salvaged with aggressive resuscitation measures using Blood-Stimulating Potion. Patient under extensive rehabilitation at time of writing. Unable to be healed with spells._

Ginny's stomach churned in reading the grisly accounts and even though she didn't understand much of the Healer lexicon, she got the general idea. She looked back at Robards, who stood in front of her, waiting. "Well?" he asked. "Any thoughts, Intern Weasley?" 

"Well, it's Dark Wizardry..." Ginny started.

"You don't say," Robards snapped. "Anything else, Intern Obvious?"

Ginny scowled at him. "Are all Aurors this cranky, or is it just you?" she countered before she could stop herself. 

Robards grabbed the paper from her hands and brandished it. "You're wondering why I'm cranky, Intern Weasley? Someone is doing this purposefully and with malicious intent. They are harming fellow witches and wizards on purpose using a very cruel form of destructive magic. If that doesn't make you _cranky_ as well, perhaps you've chosen the wrong career." He took a deep breath, seeming to calm himself. Ginny genuinely wondered whether Robards needed a vacation or if he was just a very intense wizard. Perhaps both. When he had relaxed, Robards smiled grimly and said, "But this is why I come to work, to stop these pieces of human rubbish from harming more people. Now, why do _you_ think it's Dark Wizardry?" 

Ginny reached out and tentatively took the paper back from Robards. "None seemed to have any underlying reason to be bleeding, with the exception of Knife Wizard here, but his reaction was disproportionate to the injury."

Robards stroked his lower lip with his thumb and nodded. "Uh-huh, go on..."

"And none could be healed with spells." Ginny's mind connected back to the Dementors' Diamond. Whomever was creating this magic had tremendous Dark power, as there were few conventional injuries or maladies that could not be healed with spells. A shiver passed through her as she recalled her own experience with Dark anti-magic. 

"Very good, Intern Weasley, yes, all marks of Dark Wizardry." Robards took the paper back, folded it up and put it in a pocket of his robes. "So, we'll be taking a trip to St. Mungo's, it looks like."

When Ginny and Robards were ready, they made their way back to the Floo hall, and rode a fireplace to St. Mungo's. The reception wizard used Sonorus to page Healer Maracus, who met them in the lobby after a few minutes. He was in his mid-twenties, tall and thin with dark blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He had a precise, meticulous manner without seeming stuffy and he reminded Ginny of a less-priggish version of her brother Percy. 

Healer Maracus led them back to his small windowless office. Even though the office was packed with folders and papers, they were all neatly organized and labeled. He cleared the two chairs in front of his desk and then offered them tea, which they both declined. Ginny knew that Robards would probably not speak to her for the rest of the day if she accepted a beverage from anyone. She silently thanked thanked Alistor Moody for that bit of advice.

Robards reached into the pocket of his robe and brought forth a rolled, sealed piece of parchment. It was a special affidavit overriding St. Mungo's privacy policy, as the cases were now considered part of a criminal investigation. Robards handed the scroll to Healer Maracus who unrolled it, read it perfunctorily, nodded once, and put it in a drawer of his desk. He turned around in his chair and grabbed a stack of 10 charts off of a larger pile and set them on his desk with a thump. Ginny gaped at it. "There's more?" she asked, her voice coming out higher than she had intended.

Healer Maracus glanced at her. "All I drafted for the Auror office briefing sheet were the cases of unusual, magic-resistant hemorrhage, Intern Weasley, but there have been numerous other cases of magically-resistant maladies." He started taking them off the pile one at a time: "Hemorrhage, hemorrhage, hypovolemic shock, septic shock, hemorrhage, septic shock...all unable to be healed by spells, just by the most powerful healing potions ever made, none of the illnesses with any discernible underlying cause." He looked back up at the two of them and slid the pile across the desk. 

"Did anyone die?" Ginny asked, again in that same high voice. She cleared her throat. 

Healer Maracus exchanged a glance with Robards, a questioning one, and Robards nodded assuringly. "Thank Merlin, no," he replied and Ginny felt her shoulders relax. "But there have been some very close calls and of course a few have had lasting damage." 

"Good," Robards said, "that means we can question them and find out what they have in common. Do you have any theories, Healer Maracus?"

Healer Maracus shrugged. "I imagine it's some form of poison, likely ingested as most poisons are, but I also cannot completely rule out an inhalation or contact poison. I haven't gotten quite that far yet."

Robards stood and nodded. "Thank you for your time, Healer Maracus."

"Certainly. Please feel free to send an owl if I may be of any further assistance." 

"Again, thank you," Robards said before turning to Ginny once more. "Get the charts, if you would be so kind, Intern Weasley," he said. 

Ginny jumped up and grabbed the stack. She smiled politely at Healer Maracus and trailed Robards out of the office. They Floo'd back to the Ministry and spent the rest of the day poring over the stack of charts. Healer Maracus had been meticulous in his documentation, even to the point of taking photographs. Ginny made herself look at them, even though they were horrifying, if for no other reason than to desensitize her; if she wanted to be an Auror, this sort of thing was commonplace so she may as well get used to it.

Before Ginny knew it, it was five o'clock and time go home. She met her father at the main reception hall. He greeted her enthusiastically, but she found that she was merely exhausted and answered his questions only with short statements. Her father got the hint after a time and gave up. By then they were home anyway. 

The following day, she and Robards started their inquiries of the patients involved in the investigations. The day after that, the same. And the day after that. They never seemed to get very far; no one had reported any suspicious activity and some were justifiably shell-shocked about the experience so were hesitant to talk. As the week wore on, Ginny could see that Robards was getting more and more frustrated as his temper with her became shorter and shorter. 

Mercifully, the weekend came and Ginny spent it at the Burrow doing as little as possible, or engaging in pleasant, domestic, prosaic chores for her mother. Monday came all too quickly, however, and Ginny was dreading more of chasing her own tail with an increasingly irritable Robards hounding her. Thankfully, Monday did bring one pleasant surprise. When Robards met her in the hallway, he wordlessly handed Ginny a badge and held his hand out for her Visitor badge. Barely daring to hope, Ginny removed her badge and traded it for the one in Robards' outstretched hand. It said: _Ginny Weasley, Intern, Auror Department_. Ginny almost started jumping up and down. She restrained herself only at Robards' world-weary expression. He noted her barely contained excitement and smirked slightly, perhaps recalling a time when he too was that enthusiastic about his job. "Go ahead, Intern Weasley. Get it out of your system." Ginny grinned and bounced on her toes twice, before calming herself and attaching the badge to the front of her robes.

Ginny's day got better when the two of them came to the giant steel door of the Auror office and Robards asked her to place her wand in the analyzer instead of his. She did and it scanned it and with the same hiss as every other morning, the door opened for her. Following the morning briefing, Robards beckoned her over to follow him to his own desk. He cleared his throat. "Now that you've been given free access to the Ministry as well as the Auror Department, there's something I need you to do for me, Intern Weasley."

"What?" Ginny asked. _Anything_ , she thought, pleased beyond all reason to be able to come and go on her own; this freedom made her feel for the first time as if she were truly part of the team, like she truly belonged. 

Robards took a stack of three or four books off of his desk and handed them to her. "Take these down to Henderson in Magical Law Enforcement, and ask if you can borrow the Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor." 

Ginny took the books. "What do we need that for?" she asked.

Robards rolled his eyes. "Rule Six, Intern Weasley, pay attention to detail." He raised his left hand and wiggled his fingers. "Now, I didn't stutter. Get moving and don't come back without it." As he shooed her out, Ginny realized that he hadn't actually answered her question, but she was so thrilled about having a quest all of her own, she high-tailed out of the office. 

Ginny took the books down a floor to Magical Law Enforcement, had to wait about 10 minutes for Henderson to get out of a meeting, and then she gave him the books and asked for the Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor. Henderson paused for a moment and then pursed his lips in thought. "Well..." he said, "It's out at the moment."

"Do you know who has it? Auror Robards really seems to need it." Ginny chewed her lip as she waited for an answer.

Henderson snapped his fingers suddenly. "Melisande DeRivier at the _Prophet_ office. She's the reception witch. Oh, and can you take this to her?" He handed her some pieces of parchment, bound loosely with a piece of string. 

"Sure, absolutely," Ginny said. She took the bound pieces of paper and left. The Prophet office was clear on the other side of the Floo hall, not actually part of the Ministry proper, just annexed off of it. The hall wasn't as crowded as it sometimes was, so Ginny made it down in reasonable time, even though it was a bit of a trek from Magical Law Enforcement. 

"Oh!" Melisande said when Ginny asked for the Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor. Lee Jordan came in at the same time, said a cheery hello to her and spent the next few minutes flirting with Melisande as Ginny became slightly bored and impatient. She finally fake-coughed, trying not to be completely rude, but at the same time, wanting to get on with her mission and her day. 

Melisande started rifling through her desk, but Lee stopped her. "Mel, we don't have it anymore, remember?" he asked. "It's down at Magical Transportation." 

Mel looked at him. "Right," she said. "Magical Transportation. Yolanda Harbringer had it, last I knew." Ginny sighed and turned to leave. "Can you bring this down for her as well?" Mel asked, holding an overstuffed file folder out to her, its contents overflowing. Ginny manhandled it into some semblance of order and then took a rubber band off of Mel's desk and used it to secure its contents as best she could. She said goodbye to Lee and Mel and then walked the long way back to the Ministry. 

As she passed down the hallway, Ginny saw Lucius Malfoy coming the other direction. She cursed inwardly. There was no way to avoid him, no turns to take, just one long, straight, merciless hallway. Ginny drew herself up taller; there was really nothing to be done but walk by him. That's all she had to do. _Just walk by, even nod to acknowledge his existence because you're not a total prat,_ she thought. Once again, Lucius wasn't looking at her until they just passed and then she nodded curtly. Ginny saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk and he returned her nod. He walked past Ginny and she let out a quiet sigh of relief until--

"Miss Weasley?"

 _Fuckshit,_ Ginny thought. She stopped and turned slowly. "Mr. Malfoy?" she replied. 

He had her brand new identification card held hostage between the second two fingers of his right hand. "You seem to have dropped this."

Ginny walked towards him. "Thank you," she said. 

"Oh, I see," Lucius said as Ginny stopped in front of him. "You _are_ capable of being polite, grateful even, from time to time, particularly when there's something that you want or need. Tell me, did you rehearse that little head nod of yours before trying it out on me? And, if I may, did it go as well as you had pictured it in your mind?" His malice was only minimal-to-moderate; mostly he seemed amused. 

"May I please have that back?" Ginny asked, holding her hand out, determined not to spar with him. She was still trying to figure out how she now felt about his involvement with her current placement within the Ministry now that she had had more time to reflect upon it, so was hoping to keep this encounter as neutral as she could.

Lucius didn't move other than to pull her card farther out of her reach. "In due course, Miss Weasley," he answered. "I can see that you're quite busy, but surely you can spare my lowly, humble self but a moment of your time. Besides, I was only going to inquire...politely...how your investigation is going." 

Ginny frowned. "How do you know about that?" 

Lucius dropped his voice. "We do work for the same Department, Miss Weasley, whether you choose to admit it or not. Do you not recall that conversation?" 

Ginny hoisted the barely cohesive file folder up higher under her arm. "I do," she said coolly. "It's going quite well." She wished to keep the conversation as short as Lucius would allow it to be. "Thank you for asking."

Lucius raised both eyebrows. "My word," he said. "Two uncoerced expressions of gratitude in as many minutes. You must be feeling particularly generous." He handed her badge back to her with a sneer. "Or particularly desperate."

Ginny took it from him. "Thank you," she said yet again.

"And there's a third. I'm curious, Miss Weasley, does it get easier each time you say that?"

Ginny paused for a moment. "Yes," she finally said, surprising herself into honesty. 

Lucius looked bemused, as if her answer was the last thing he had been expecting. "Well," he said, "if I can be of any assistance in your endeavors, by all means, don't hesitate to ask." 

Ginny considered for a moment. _Eh, what the hell?_ she thought. "As it happens, I'm looking for a Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor?" she tried.

Lucius smiled at her with obvious delight. "A Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor, you say? Perhaps then, Miss Weasley, you would do well to check your brothers' joke shop."

Ginny lowered her brows. "Why would I check my brothers' joke shop?" she asked.

"That's the spirit, Miss Weasley. Question everything, assume nothing; isn't that what you've been taught?" Lucius took a deep breath before his eyes adopted a strange, faraway look and his smile faded. "Why check it indeed?" With that, he turned smartly and walked down the hallway away from her. 

Ginny scowled after him, annoyed that he had answered her question with one of his own and that he was acting so cryptic. She looked at her badge and noticed that a folded piece of parchment lay underneath it. She took the piece of parchment but didn't unfold it. "Mr. Malfoy?" she called after Lucius.

He turned. "Yes?"

"You left something behind," Ginny said.

Lucius looked pointedly at the overflowing folder under Ginny's arm. "I very much doubt that, Miss Weasley." He nodded to her one more time and then walked away. 

Ginny stared at the parchment once again. It definitely hadn't come from the folder; it was folded up so neatly that the edges matched each other with near-perfect precision, and to almost the exact same size and shape as her badge. With any other wizard, Ginny would have written it off as having indeed fallen from the overstuffed folder without her notice. However, it wouldn't have been the first time Lucius had given her something of his while returning one of her own possessions. There was no doubt in Ginny's mind that it had indeed been in his possession not 30 seconds prior, and like Tom Riddle's diary all those years ago, there was most definitely a reason that he had given it to her. 

She didn't dare open it out in the main hall of the Ministry, so she stuffed it into her pocket and walked with her head down to the Department of Magical Transportation. Ms. Harbringer was a middle-aged witch with her black hair in a tight bun and her face in a seemingly constant expression of disapproval. She took the file folder from Ginny and told her that yes, they did have the Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor, but she would have to sign it out. Ginny sank with relief. Finally she would be able to go back to the Auror office and give it back to Robards, and then help with the investigation, to say nothing of reading the mysterious bit of parchment Lucius had slipped her.

Ms. Harbringer handed Ginny a clipboard with a lined form on it. Ginny dutifully penned in her name, her department name, her department head's name, her birthday, the date, and the time on the next blank line. As she did, her stomach rumbled and she realized that she had already missed lunch. She would have to eat at her desk when she got back, whenever that would be. She finally finished filling out her portion of the form and handed the clipboard back to Ms. Harbringer, who took it from her, read it and then frowned. "Intern Weasley, in looking at this, it appears that actually, we _don't_ have it. It was signed out to Gerald Triventer in Magic Reversal and has not as of yet been returned." She turned around and left Ginny standing in the reception area, with neither explanation nor apology for wasting her time.

Ginny gaped after Ms. Harbringer for a moment, and then swiftly left the Department of Magical Transportation, doing everything possible not to slam the door behind her. Her good mood of the morning was now completely gone. She leaned against the wall outside of the office for a moment, tipped her head back and closed her eyes while she attempted to re-group. _Check your brothers' joke shop_ , Lucius had said, _check your brothers' joke shop. Check your brothers' joke shop._ His smug, refined voice bounced around irritatingly in Ginny's mind for a moment or two before her head snapped down and her eyes opened. He had told her to check her brothers' joke shop because the entire endeavor was a bloody joke. 

Ginny didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Robards was simply hazing her and she had let him reel her in, utterly and completely. Ginny had even seen him cast right-handed, sign documents right-handed, write reports right-handed, open doors right-handed, and eat right-handed all week. _Rule Six, Intern Weasley, pay attention to detail._ It was ironic, really, that Lucius Malfoy had been the most helpful contributor to her own embarrassing investigation. Rather than sending her to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, for example, or to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or to the moon for that matter, looking for a non-existent tool, he had actually given her a tremendous hint. This realization prompted her to wonder then if he would be equally helpful in the real investigation. She looked left and right and, assured that she was alone, took out the mysterious piece of parchment, unfolded it, and read it. 

It was nothing more than a list of names. _David Jugson, Allette Selwyn, Thomas Ulwin-Riley, Marius Boniver, George Gibbon, Martin Imerrill._ Three of the names popped out at Ginny as sharing surnames with known Death Eaters; she had no idea who the other three were. _Rule Seven, Intern Weasley, use all of your senses,_ Ginny made up on the fly. She held the paper up to the light from a mounted wall sconce. It had a watermark, an _RG_ with an octagon around it. That was a dead end; everyone used Rogers-Grantier parchment. 

Ginny then drew the parchment under her nose and inhaled. It smelled like parchment, of course, and for a moment, Ginny thought affectionately of Hermione, who always claimed it to be a favorite smell of hers, but underneath it was a sweet, almost candy-like smell, like Jelly Slugs or Turkish Delight. Ginny's mouth watered unexpectedly, reminding her that she needed to get back to her office, which held her desk and most importantly, her ham and cheese sandwich. Ginny took one more moment to study the parchment. The writing looked vaguely familiar, but it did not belong to Lucius. Lucius' handwriting reflected his pureblooded, aristocratic background: slanting, immaculate, fine script with loads of loops, especially on his signature. The writing on the parchment was sloppier, less flourished, and just clunkier to the point almost of childishness. 

It was a shame that Ginny couldn't cast magic on it, such as Specialis Revelio. Shacklebolt had flat-out refused to waive the underage restriction and Ginny wasn't going to turn 17 until August. It was a pain, because every time she wanted to cast anything in conjunction with her work, she had to ask Robards to do it, and he of course would interrogate her on every single spell she asked him to cast, even Lumos. 

Ginny heard the clock in the main hall strike two. She folded the parchment back up and put it back in her pocket before hurrying back to the Auror office. "Where's my Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor, Intern Weasley?" Robards demanded as Ginny bolted back to her desk in search of her far-overdue lunch. 

Ginny wheeled on him. "It's in Hades, where you also belong," she snarled, unwrapping her sandwich and taking a huge, grateful bite of it. 

Robards laughed loudly and long enough to draw grins and titters from the other Aurors milling around, who clearly knew exactly what had happened. Even Shacklebolt chuckled. Ginny didn't care if they laughed at her. All that mattered was her Merlin-blessed sandwich, on her mother's homemade bread. When she looked up, Robards was wiping his eyes on his sleeve. _Bastard_ , she thought, staring curses at him. 

"Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor," Robards mused as he caught his breath, recovering. "It's really never not funny. How far did you get, anyway?" 

"Ms. Harbringer in the Department of Magical Transportation. My fourth stop." Fifth counting her interaction with Lucius, but some instinct prompted her to keep that one quiet.

Robards did a double take at Ginny's dark expression. "Oh, don't fret, Intern Weasley, it's a tradition going back hundreds of years. You'll do the same thing when you first take an intern."

Ginny looked at him in astonishment at this last statement. Whether he had meant it or not, Robards had just indicated that he believed implicitly at least that Ginny had a future with the Auror Department. Ginny felt a surge of hope grow in her chest as she continued wolfing down her sandwich. Robards pointed his finger at her. "Oh, and I also noticed that you haven't accepted a beverage yet. Well done, Intern Weasley," he said, nodding with approval.

Ginny finished her sandwich and grinned at him, feeling far more charitable towards him than she had before eating. "Well, when you grow up with two pranking Inferi of older twin brothers, you learn not to trust anything offered for consumption, whether you are aspiring to become an Auror or not." She laughed. "I mean, I really never knew what they might end up slipping into my--" Ginny cut off as revelation hit her. She could feel the blood leaving her face along with her smile as every single piece of the puzzle suddenly lined up and she could see the entire picture with absolute clarity.

 _Check your brothers' joke shop,_ Lucius had said. There had been a deliberate double meaning in that riddle. The twins were brewing poisons and selling them. That's what Lucius had on them and he had essentially just admitted it to her face before slipping her the unexplained list of names. That's what Hermione was talking about when she referred to business from both ends, blackmail, and the twins incriminating themselves by talking about the night of the Ball. A high-pitched buzzing filled Ginny's ears and she stood as if in a trance and walked to the restroom, ignoring Robards' queries that she couldn't even hear. 

Once in a stall, Ginny took the parchment back out and unfolded it once more with shaking hands. The writing was unmistakably that of the twins, now so glaringly obvious to her. She stared at the six names until the words blurred and distorted and Ginny realized that she was crying. She wasn't just weeping silently: this crying was almost hysterical, and her abdomen twisted painfully as sobs wracked her body. The sterile clinical words and phrases hammered at her like nails in a coffin: _exsanguination, hemorrhage, septic shock, hypovolemic shock, unable to be salvaged_. Fred and George were hurting people, these same playful, teasing older brothers who were also people who had always detested being poor. They were now Dark Wizards making and selling poisons that were nearly killing people and for what? Some Galleons? Some new dragon-skin cloaks? A few nights on the town? 

As terrible as it all was, it wasn't even the worst; Ginny realized that it wasn't Fred and George that were going to fracture the family this time: it was going to be her. She would have to take this investigation to its terrible conclusion and in so doing, send her brothers to Azkaban, to say nothing of trashing her family's reputation as being on the side of Light. It was the worst decision Ginny had ever had to make. If she did the job that she had been entrusted to do, that she had agreed to do, she would have to turn them in, which would shatter her family. It would be like Percy's defection times a thousand. On the other hand, if Ginny botched the investigation or swept the evidence under the rug to keep her family intact, not only would it be the wrong thing to do, but more people would be hurt or more likely, killed. Besides, Robards, Shacklebolt, and the other Aurors were smart and experienced; they would eventually figure it out and once they did, she would be implicated if she didn't do everything in her power to assist them.

Ginny unrolled some toilet paper and wiped her eyes and her nose. The other piece of it was that Lucius Malfoy knew, and sooner or later, he would know that she knew. She wasn't sure what his angle was this time, perhaps that he wanted to see the Weasley family destroy itself from the inside out. _Question everything; assume nothing_. Was that the extent of it, though? Hermione suddenly sprang to Ginny's mind. If she were there, Hermione would rationally point out that Fred and George were brewing poisons of their own accord; no one was making them do it. She would also say that Lucius knew about it because it was his business to know. It was well-established that he was practically the mayor of Knockturn Alley as it was, particularly since opening Patrona earlier that year. Also, if Lucius was truly working for the Auror office, a likelihood that Ginny was having an increasingly difficult time ignoring, a black-market trade in deadly poisons with no spell antidote was also his business, whether his own agenda was sinister or not. 

If Lucius knew, and particularly if he knew that Ginny knew, he was no doubt testing her to see which way she would jump. This was particularly true if his new job was to assess Auror viability. Thus, if Ginny carried the investigation to its conclusion, Lucius would no doubt find amusement in the Weasley family's downfall, and he would certainly be willing to bring the conclusion about if for that reason alone. Also, if he knew that Ginny knew and she compromised the investigation for any reason, Lucius would not hesitate to leverage everything in his arsenal against her, and even Ginny could admit that he would be well within his rights to do so, especially after the way she had behaved at the Vow. 

Resolved, Ginny stood up and exited the stall. She splashed cold water on her face and then looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was blotched and puffy, but she couldn't hide in the bathroom forever. Almost in a trance, she exited the bathroom, and then walked through the steel door and back into the hallway. She still had that buzzing in her ears as her feet carried her, step by step, to the Division of International Magical Cooperation, where Lucius had his Ministry Office. In his well-appointed reception area, his secretary, a beautiful if somewhat haughty witch named Imelda told her that Mr. Malfoy had left on a trip and would be back in one week, but that she would take a message if it was needed.

Ginny almost laughed madly, knowing that there was no way to put what she needed to in a message. She thanked Imelda and shuffled back to the Auror division. It was for the best, really. She could get her investigation in order before he got back, such as connecting the six names on the parchment with the patients and solidifying a body of evidence.

Ginny walked back to her own department and her own desk. "What happened to you?" Robards asked.

"I just forgot someone I was supposed to talk to in conjunction with the stupid Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor. Everyone seemed to need me to courier something or other." She glanced at him sharply. "Was that part of it?"

Robards raised an eyebrow. "Mmmmmaybe," he said slowly and with a diabolical smile. 

Ginny sighed and rubbed her forehead. She could feel a headache brewing. "Anyway, I'd best be getting to work, to my _real_ work." She inclined her head at the 10 open patient charts on her desk. "Oh, and I made up Rule Seven: use all of your senses."

Robard shrugged. "Good one," he said. He bent down so he could speak to her quietly. "And here's Rule Eight: learn how to lie better." Ginny's stomach flipped. Now Robards whispered, "I'm an Auror, Intern Weasley, and a damned good one. I _will_ suss out the truth of your little un-scheduled work break." He stood up, all traces of humor gone from his now-stern face. "Now you may get to work." 

Ginny swallowed as Robards went to his own desk. She surreptitiously pulled the parchment out of her pocket once again. She then grabbed the first patient chart and started to sift.

CHAPTER 44: THE GIFT

The morning of Hermione's first day at the Ministry dawned bright, clear, and warm. She smiled at the sunlight coming in through the lace curtains of her kitchen. She had found a charming two-bedroom cottage in the country. It had belonged to an ancient witch who had died, leaving it to her son. He worked for Gringott's so already had a fine house of his own, but being a wizard of business savvy, had kept it as a rental property. Hermione had a year-long lease on it and, true to his word, Lucius had transferred the entire year's rent from his Gringott's account to the landlord's, no harm, no fuss. It had all been done discretely with owls, as Hermione hadn't seen Lucius since the last, very dangerous night in Malfoy Manor.

That had been weeks ago, long enough for Hermione to reflect on it. She had played it off with banter at the time, but the truth of it was, having that close a brush with Voldemort had shaken her to her core and clearly it had rattled Lucius as well. Even though Hermione had chased Voldemort off in the nick of time, both she and Lucius knew that he couldn't avoid him forever. As she and Lucius walked back to the house, he was quiet, almost brooding. He wasn't overly angry with her, he just seemed deeply concerned, which lent credence to the presupposition that he was no longer on Voldemort's side. Of course, Lucius said nothing about it and Hermione knew that even if she were to ask him, Lucius would say something both clever and unhelpful, so she didn't push it, although she left as she had entered: burning with curiosity about the truth.

The last thing Lucius had told Hermione before she Disapparated off of his property was that it was going to be a while before he could see her again. He told her that his wife was coming back to Malfoy Manor soon. He didn't elaborate, but Hermione suspected it was more than just that he wanted to spend time with Narcissa; he needed to figure out what to do about Voldemort. At the time, Hermione had kicked herself for no doubt scaring him and hoped she hadn't scared him off completely. Then again, it wasn't as if Lucius Malfoy was someone who scared particularly easily, at least in Hermione's experience.

Hermione got out of bed and started getting ready for the day. She had slept well and woke up feeling good, but in putting on her new mauve work robes, the nerves started. She was working in Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, as a paid intern, and of course, wanted to make a good first impression. She ate a hasty breakfast and joyfully realized that because she was no longer living with Muggles, she could use magic to clean up. She waved her wand and, to her immense satisfcation, the dishes cleaned themselves. Hermione reflected that it was nice not just to be on her own, but to be able to cast magic whenever she liked, at least in wizarding spaces. 

Her kitchen clean, Hermione made sure that she had everything she needed and Apparated to the Ministry. She filled out form after form in reception, before having her picture taken for her identification badge, as well as submitting her wand for analysis. The pleasant reception witch assured her that it would only be for the first day; after that, she could enter through the restroom and get straight to work. Hermione thanked her, declined the offered escort, and made her way to her new work. 

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures took up almost all of its own floor, as it had hundreds of holding pens for the diffent creatures its employees had to deal with. As far as she knew, Hermione's job description did not include creature wrangling in any form, but as an intern, and thus the lowest person in the department, she couldn't be sure of that. Hermione certainly hoped not, although if she were asked to do it, she would do it cheerfully, or at least that's what she told herself. 

Hermione's direct boss was a wiry twenty-two-year-old wizard named Horatio Vondleberg with a loud tie and an even louder voice. He took her to her new desk, which was dotted with holes from nails and staples, and had one corner that had clearly been bitten or chewed off by some sort of creature, as evidenced by tooth and claw marks. Hermione's first assignment was to assist in drafting regulations regarding how many Knarls one could carry across international lines. Apparently, the whole department was in the process of revising the entire law of Magical Creature ownership and transport, so everyone was busy with some similar assignment. With Knarls' propensity for looking like hedgehogs, the regulations had to at least address how to convince Muggle customs that they were, in fact, hedgehogs if they were to behave in their natural way, in addition to researching the laws of other countries regarding Knarl ownership and transport as well as Muggle laws regarding transporting hedgehogs. 

Hermione stifled a yawn even listening to Vondleberg describe it as she flipped through the folder of information already gathered on the subject. She suspected it was a pretty typical assigment for the lowest person in the office. At least she'd learn something and be able to read, two things she rather enjoyed. 

"Oh, and you have a meeting with Lucius Malfoy, of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at 11:00."

Hermione looked up from her folder quickly. "Lucius Malfoy?" she asked in disbelief, but of course he _would_ toy with her on her first day of work. She wasn't even sure why she expected anything less, although it proved the point that she had not scared him off at all, but that he wanted to see her.

Vondleberg looked at her, his brows furrowed before he relaxed and smiled. "It's not as if he's still a Death Eater, Granger," he said, as if suggesting anything else was completely unreasonable.

Hermione closed her eyes for a second and sighed as subtly as she could. "That's not what I was going to say," she explained. "I'm just surprised that he would meet with a mere intern about Knarls, of all things."

"Well," Vondleberg also sighed. "He was supposed to meet with me about that and a few other things, but then I got caught up with the whole pixie catastrophe before you got here, so he graciously agreed to meet with you instead. So, go up there if you would and take notes...actually..." Vondleberg ran back to his own desk and returned with a black composition book. "At least I was able to write down my questions for him before everything really went mad." He slid it over to her.

Hermione opened it to find a dozen pages of nearly illegible scrawl, much of which had been crossed out, ammended, edited, and then written over with red ink in the margins. Hermione gaped at it with horror before she took a deep, cleansing breath and smiled at Vondleberg. "Anything else?"

Vondleberg at least had the grace to look slightly chagrined at the state of his questions. "No thanks, Granger." He sighed one more time as he picked up his composition book and flipped through it, shaking his head at his untidy scrawl. "Yeah...you might be up there for a while."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to waste his time," Hermione said, putting the slightest bit of sarcasm in her words. 

"Nonsense. He won't mind," Vondleberg replied, before getting out a quill and crossing something else out and scribbling more. "He's a great resource, been at the game for a while, you know? And he likes to teach." 

Hermione suppressed a grin. Technically, it was all true. 

Vondleberg looked back at her. "He doesn't bite, you know. We work closely with their department, so you may see him quite a bit."

"Is that so?" Hermione asked dryly. 

"Yeah..." Vondleberg answered, although his attention was diverted elsewhere. Hermione looked in the direction he was staring, only to see a large wizard in kelly green robes manhandling a giant cage of blue, violent pixies through the door of the office. Vondleberg jumped up as if he had been bitten and tore across the room. "Not in here, for Merlin's sake!" he roared, waving his arms.

Hermione snorted. The place was chaotic, but she figured she would just have to roll with it. It would be good for her to learn to adapt and be flexible. She nodded in approval of her own decision and read the file Vondleberg had put together. After about 15 minutes, she was ready to give it up as a bad job. Vondleberg was so disorganized, it occurred to Hermione that she would likely have to start over from scratch. 

The file folder had more of Vondleberg's terribly mangled script on about a dozen pieces of parchment, some of which did indeed talk about Knarls. However, mixed in with this were completely unrelated notes and extracts on bowtruckles, nymphs and even a _Daily Prophet_ clipping from 1982 about a wizard who had swum the English Channel with an impermeable sack full of Pygmy Puffs on his back. Under that was a copy of the Muggle children's book _Ms. Tiggy-Winkle_ , which, to be fair, was about a hedgehog, but could not be less relevant to her assignment. It was all Hermione could do not to bang her head on the pocked surface her new-old desk. 

Hermione shoved everything back in the file folder and ran her hands through her hair a few times. Vondleberg had left the old text revision of the International Transport Law on the other, non-chewed-on corner of her desk and Hermione decided to start there. Doing her best to tune out the voices and other noise around her, she started to read. As she did, Hermione started to relax into this activity that felt as natural to her as breathing. Even though Knarl transport law was not the world's most compelling subject, Hermione found herself getting lost in it and before she knew it, it was 10:50 by the large clock on the wall. 

Hermione closed the book and put it with Vondleberg's appalling composition notebook, and the most useful portions of his Knarl folder, in addition to her own notes. She carried all of this one floor up to the Deparment of International Magical Cooperation. After the noise and chaos of her own department, the silence in Lucius' department made Hermione's ears ring, but in the best, most relieving possible way. Rather than the black ombre tiles of the rest of the Ministry, the walls were lined with the crests of the different international magical governmental bodies, each under its nation's flag. The reception area did not have a door, just an archway with Welcome carved into it, a word that changed every few seconds into its different translations. 

The reception area was even more peaceful, all polished black wood and stone, with the occasional pop of color: a purple orchid on the reception witch's desk, one red stone among the black stones in the gently bubbling water feature at one end of the room, a jade statue on a raised, black plinth in the middle of the room. The ceiling was high with a magic skylight letting in a bright shaft of sunlight, which sparkled on the water feature; clearly an intended design element in this underground space, and one probably engineered so the sunlight always reached the water.

Hermione approached the desk. The reception witch was a dark-eyed, dark-haired, porcelain-skinned beauty, wearing minimalist, modern and yet chic black robes, whose identification badge read _Imelda_. "Yes?" she said, her voice low and pleasant, with just the hint of some sort of accent that Hermione couldn't place and Hermione suddenly felt childish in her mauve robes, carrying her stack of books and papers.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Hermione Granger. I have an 11:00 meeting with Mr. Malfoy," she said.

Imelda nodded once, her graceful head barely moving as a dry smile graced her mouth. She got up, all long, slim limbs and poise. She had to be 5'10" if she was an inch and Hermione felt herself standing as tall as she could. She followed Imelda down a hallway lined with magical works of art, not portraits, but abstract pieces whose colors shifted like water. She stopped at a large, polished black door with a brass plate on it that said _L. Malfoy, International Magical Trading Liaison_. Imelda knocked courteously. 

"Come in," came a voice that Hermione most assuredly recognized. 

Imelda opened the door. "Miss Hermione Granger," she announced, before stepping aside to let Hermione into the room. It was high-ceilinged, with large windows that looked out on a beautiful, misty, old-world forest, even though, like the rest of the Ministry, Lucius' office was underground. Hermione found this magical effect quite calming, especially in conjunction with the dark green velour couches, two of which were placed to face each other in front of the large desk, polished to an almost mirror finish. 

As Hermione entered, Lucius stood and came around the desk. He looked at her with wry amusement before his gray eyes found the reception witch. "Thank you, Imelda." She nodded once more and closed the door behind her. 

Hermione held her hand out. "You must be the infamous Lucius Malfoy, ex-Death Eater and resident Knarl expert as pertaining to international trade legislation." 

Lucius smiled and took her hand. "And you must be the infamous Hermione Granger, ex-Head Girl and future resident Knarl expert as pertaining to international trade legislation." 

Hermione frowned. "It's not a title you wish to retain?"

"You'll find I'm of a generous turn of mind most of the time, Miss Granger." He dropped her hand and walked back to his desk. 

"Yes, Mr. Vondleberg did say that about you."

Lucius picked up a neat, black folder from the corner of the desk. He looked back at her, one eyebrow up. "Did he now?" 

"He wanted to apologize for not being able to attend this meeting himself. There was a crisis regarding pixies that necessitated his detention in our department." 

Lucius walked back over to her and stopped a few inches away from her. "Oh, I'm well aware of the pixie incident, Miss Granger," he said softly. "Seeing as I may or may not have instigated that very incident myself, for the express purpose of distracting Mr. Vondleberg so his brand new intern would have to take the meeting with me instead of him." 

Hermione turned to him and tilted her face up to his. "Is that so?"

"Well, only allegedly, Miss Granger. However, in addition to being generous, you'll find that there is a nary a situation that I cannot manipulate to bring about my own desires." 

"Wow," Hermione breathed. She took a step back. "You must really want to talk about Knarls." She smiled and held out her hand.

"More than anything, Miss Granger," Lucius said sardonically before handing her the folder. Hermione opened it. Inside was each set of current regulations regarding Knarls from every country with governmental Magical oversight, all translated into English, all neatly arranged first by country name, and then chronologically, cross-referenced with a sample of citations for infractions. Its careful, almost obsessive organization gave Hermione a thrill that was near to being sexual, but she suspected that Lucius had done it this way tongue-in-cheek, in full knowledge of how much she would appreciate it. Put simply, he had done it like a man who wanted to have sex with Hermione specifically would have done it. There just was no other reason that Hermione could fathom for this attention to detail regarding such a dull, irrelevant subject. 

Hermione smiled, opting not to make it that easy for him, although she knew deep down that it would certainly work on her and it was unlikely she would leave Lucius' office without having let him part her legs. It helped also that she wanted him. "I must say, Mr. Malfoy, this is generous. You've done my work for me." She closed the folder. "Thanks to you, I may not need to take up as much of your precious time as I had initially feared." She nodded firmly and turned from him to exit. 

"Not so hasty if you please, Miss Granger," Lucius said warningly.

Hermione stopped in her tracks. Keeping one hand on the door handle, she faced him once more. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" 

"You don't happen to have anything for me in return, do you?" He smiled in the predatory way that Hermione knew so well. 

Hermione pondered for a moment, looking at the illusory tree trunks outside of the window. "Oh yes. Mr. Vondleberg had questions of his own." She opened the composition book and showed him the carnage therein. "If you can possibly make heads or tails of any of it, that is." 

Lucius rubbed his forehead with one hand. "I have no interest in attempting to do that, Miss Granger."

Hermione re-adjusted her bundle of stuff, some of which was attempting to fall on the floor. "Look, do you want to talk about Knarls or not?" she demanded, the corners of her mouth twitching.

Lucius took his hand off of his forehead. "Not even a little. I simply gathered the requisite information to save time."

"Time for what, may I ask?" 

Lucius tilted his head to the side. "Talking, for a start." He walked over to one of the couches and sat down with one arm along the back before he looked back at her expectantly. 

Hermione joined him and sat on the other end of the couch, setting her books and folders on the end table next to her. She turned her body back towards Lucius and folded her hands in her lap.

Lucius leaned his head in one hand, his long hair trailing over his fingers and down his forearm. "And how is your first day at the illustrious Ministry of Magic going? Is it everything you hoped for?"

Hermione sighed and put her own head on the back of the couch. "Vondleberg is nice enough and I'm learning things, but Merlin..." she picked her head up and shook it slowly. "It's a complete zoo down there...and I mean that in every possible sense." 

"You do seem...tense," Lucius said. "Tell me, Miss Granger, when did you last have an orgasm?"

Hermione looked at him with shock. "Are you serious right now?" Her face colored ridiculously. "Way to ruin the moment, Lucius," she muttered. 

"We were having a _moment_?" Lucius asked, smirking. "Never, in the tenure of our--dare I say--'relationship,' have we had a _moment_." He turned serious again, or pretended to, but his eyes still sparkled with amusement. "But yes, I am as serious as an Unforgivable Curse."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And, need I remind you, you _don't_ take Unforgivable Curses seriously."

Lucius blinked placidly and let the dig go by unchecked. "As a wizard with Healing training, I assure you that sexual release can work wonders for relieving tension. And besides, you didn't answer my question. When did you last orgasm?"

Hermione clamped her lips shut.

"Ah...you're going to make me guess, is that it?" Lucius pulled her leg up further on the couch and her foot onto his lap. He removed Hermione's shoe and tossed it aside. He then started kneading the bottom of her foot with his thumbs. Hermione closed her eyes and relaxed her head back once again. "Was it during our tender, vanilla lovemaking?" Hermione shook her head without opening her eyes. Lucius eased his thumbs up and down the arch of her foot, which felt terrific, and Hermione could feel the stress starting to dissipate already. "So it was after that?" Hermione nodded and pulled her other leg up onto his lap and kicked off her other shoe. Lucius turned his attention on her other foot. "Was it by yourself or with someone else?" 

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him. "It was by myself," she said darkly. 

Lucius shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me either way," he replied. "As I've told you before, however, if you choose to be with other people, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me watch..."

"I assure you, it was by myself," Hermione repeated. 

"Very well," Lucius said, continuing to rub Hermione's feet. "Did you use your hands or...something else?"

"My hands," Hermione said. "What else would I possibly use?"

"Well...some witches use a candle or other such object to simulate the feeling of a certain part of male anatomy that cannot be duplicated with fingers alone...or so I've heard." He smiled at her. 

Hermione returned his smile finally. "I didn't use a candle this time," she answered. "It wasn't a leisurely affair, just a quick toss-off to get to sleep one night." She pretended to stifle a yawn, as if the subject bored her. No doubt Lucius wanted a detailed description, preferably one in which he starred in her fantasies. Unfortunately, this time, she really was telling the truth. She hadn't thought of him, hadn't really thought of anyone, just focused on the feeling between her legs and let the orgasm happen. She had fallen asleep moments later. 

Lucius stopped rubbing her feet and sighed. "What an incredible let down, Miss Granger," he said disapprovingly. 

Hermione now was the one to shrug. "Well, you ruined our moment, so..." She trailed off, still smiling at Lucius' exasperation before turning serious once again, "But to answer your question honestly, it was..." she looked at the ceiling, counting back in her mind. It had been the night she had moved in. "Eight days ago," she concluded.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Eight days?" he asked. "That's far too long." 

"Too long, is it? When did you last have an orgasm?" Hermione shot back.

"I'm not tense in the slightest, Miss Granger, so I can't imagine how it matters." Having sufficiently dodged her question, Lucius gently disentangled himself from her feet and walked over to his desk. "As a complete coincidence, I have something for you...shall we call it, a first day of work gift?" He opened a drawer and took out an oblong black box with green ribbon. He carried it back to the couch and handed it back to her.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously, doubting with every fiber of her being that it was in any way coincidental to what they were talking about. With trepidation, she untied the ribbon, opened the box and moved the black tissue paper out of the way. Hermione looked at the gift, not so innocent as to be ignorant of what it was: it was a dildo, cock-shaped of course, with a bright silver finish.

"As scintillating as it was to hear about your experience with the candle back the night of the Ball, I admit there was a guilty part of me that felt that I owed you something better than a candle when my cock is not available." Lucius looked pleased. 

"Thank you?" Hermione said. "I've never had a sex toy of any kind...and I had no inkling that you had any guilty parts, just evil parts." 

Lucius looked affronted. "I have all sorts of parts, Hermione, as you well know, some evil and some very, _very_ good. And besides, this isn't just any sex toy, I'll have you know."

"It's not?" Hermione knew that Lucius could afford the best, so she suspected that it was probably the Firebolt of enchanted dildos, but she was unsure of precisely what that meant.

"Absolutely not. In addition to being able to grant you unprecedented levels of auto-erotic satisfaction, it is also very personal."

"Personal how?" 

Lucius put his hands up. "First things first, my impatient lover. We need to make sure it fits." 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And how, pray tell, do we go about doing that?"

He stood and once again went to his desk. In one corner was a cut-glass pitcher full of water. Lucius picked it up and carried it to a section of uncarpeted floor. He tilted it and water fell on the wood surface, making a puddle. Lucius put the pitcher back and got out his wand. He pointed it at the water. " _Aquaspecula,_ " he said. Instantly, the puddle solidified into a mirror. Insolently, Hermione thought that as vain as he was, Lucius had likely perfected that spell at quite a young age. Lucius then crouched down and picked up the irregularly edged water mirror and put it on the green carpet, a carpet so lush one could lose one's shoes in it if one wasn't careful.

"What's that for?" Hermione asked, looking at the mirror as it reflected the high, molded ceiling.

Lucius put his wand away before answering condescendingly, "It's a mirror, Miss Granger, its sole purpose to assist in visualizing things that might otherwise be difficult to see." He held out his hand to Hermione. She rolled her eyes, and then stood up and took the box over to him. He put it on the desk behind him, before coming up behind her and removing her work robe, leaving her in blouse and skirt. He now rubbed her shoulders, as he had the very first night in Malfoy Manor, the night Hermione had rescued Ginny. Hermione let herself melt under his hands. After a moment, Lucius moved his hands down her arms and finally to her wrists. He gently lifted her arms up and pulled her blouse over her head, leaving her in skirt and bra.

Hermione shimmied out of her skirt and tossed it to one of the couches. She wasn't wearing particularly sexy underwear that day; after all, she didn't anticipate seeing Lucius, much less having him see her or her underwear. He didn't seem to mind, however, and came closer to her. He ran his hands up her bare arms and then to both sides of her jaw, tipping her face up to his. He then kissed her and as his lips touched hers, Hermione found herself responding to him more strongly than she had anticipated as she kissed him back and opened her mouth to greet his tongue with hers. 

As soon as Hermione let the kiss deepen, all of work, the Ministry, Vondleberg, the stupid Knarls, all of it fell by the wayside. There was nothing else in the world, both Magical and Muggle, nothing but this kiss between her and Lucius. She moved her hands to his waist, drawing him in and pressing her pelvis to his as feelings of warmth and pleasure started spreading throughout her lower body. She could feel through his trousers that he was hard and ready for her and that just made the warmth increase even more. 

Lucius drew his hands up and undid her bra, before slipping it off, sending it to join her skirt. Hermione let her hands move around to his front and then down, but before she could touch his cock, Lucius clasped her wrists in his hands and drew them off. "No," he said, breathing hard. 

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "You don't want me to touch you?"

Lucius smiled at her and stroked her hair. "Of course I do, but that's not what any of this is about right now."

"Very well," Hermione answered. "What is it about?"

"Your new gift, of course."

"But you're actually here, as are all of your very good parts," Hermione said with a grin, all while attempting to touch his cock again playfully, just to have Lucius pull his breath in quickly and tighten his grip on her wrists. 

"If you trust me, you'll have to humor me," Lucius said.

Hermione frowned. "I don't trust you, but I will humor you."

Lucius dropped her hands. "Fair enough," he replied, taking a step back from her and looking at her from head to toe, as if memorizing her in that moment. "You may as well lose all of the clothes, however."

Hermione acquiesced, removing her underwear and adding them to the pile. "You're still fully dressed," she pointed out.

"Yes I am," Lucius said, inclining his head. "As I said, this is about you, not about me."

Hermione suppressed a smile. "Can you say that again, but slowly?" 

Lucius gave her a long-suffering sigh. "It's about you, not about me. Enjoy this rare _moment_ , Miss Granger, as, unlike you, it shall not come often." He started to remove his own robes. "Now, you may not trust me, but you did agree to humor me, so I'm going to ask you to get on your knees over the mirror, placing it between your lovely thighs."

"What? Why?" Hermione had never done that, had never taken such an intimate look at that part of her. 

Lucius, now down to shirtsleeves and trousers, came up behind her and ran his hands over her bare back. "I want you to see yourself as I see you. It's quite a lovely sight, but I want you to see it for yourself, and in that manner, we can also ensure that your new gift fits and is functional." He moved his hands to her front now and cupped her bare breasts gently, before bringing his fingers to her nipples and massaging them into hardness. Hermione felt her eyes close and her lips part as Lucius' hands patiently increased her desire before he moved them suddenly away. 

Hermione opened her eyes. "Why did you stop?" she asked.

Lucius smiled slyly. "Because you are not doing as I asked, so I shall only help you so far." He folded his arms in front of him and waited for her.

Hermione sighed and walked over to the mirror. She kneeled on the floor before spreading her legs and sliding the mirror down the carpet so that it was directly underneath her. She looked up at Lucius, waiting. "There," she said. "I did it. Do you want me to just close my eyes and pretend you're not here again?"

"If you must, but it would rather defeat the purpose of this exercise." Lucius took the box from the desk once more and crossed behind her so she could no longer see him, although she could hear him disrobe the rest of the way. He then joined her on the floor, sliding up behind her and pressing his pelvis into her, fitting his cock in the cleavage of her where her rear end met her lower back. From this position, he reached up and moved her hair away from her neck on the right, before kissing her neck from behind. 

As he did, Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. Lucius then let his hand drift back up to its original position cupping her breasts and massaging her nipples. As he did, he spoke to her, his breath tickling her ears and the fine hairs around them. "Now that you're in the proper posture, spread yourself and witness for yourself what I see." He went back to kissing her neck and taking her earlobe gently in his mouth. 

Hermione ran her hands up her inner thighs and then to her groin. She did as Lucius asked, using her fingers to spread her labia apart and for the first time, she took a good look. She could see her clit, nestled like a pearl in its sensitive pink folds. She used a finger to touch it, all while watching herself in the mirror as she probed this electrifying part of her own sexual anatomy. She then moved her finger away and looked beneath her clitoris, where the opening of her sex waited. She spread herself further apart, surprised at how wet she was. From this position, Hermione found it quite easy to picture Lucius' cock entering her and finding the mental image extremely arousing. 

"Do you now see how tempting you are to me?" Lucius asked as his hand moved down her belly and finally between her legs. He kept the other on her breast, rubbing the nipple with his thumb. He moved his fingers under hers and Hermione watched in the mirror as he slowly inserted a finger into her. She pulled in one shaky breath as he moved his finger back out and pushed in again. He did it a few more times as Hermione watched in the mirror as his finger emerged from her wet and slippery.

"I like that," Hermione whispered shakily.

"What do you like?" Lucius murmured.

"Watching you finger me," Hermione answered him.

Lucius then pulled his hand back and eased it between his cock and her rear end, stroking himself just once. Hermione helped by licking her hand and then putting it back there as well. It was enough so that Lucius could slide his cock back and forth. "Are you ready?" Lucius whispered in her ear.

"Yes," Hermione moaned. 

"Would you like me to do it, or would you like to do the honors?" Lucius now had her new sex toy in his hand. 

Hermione smiled. "I would be honored if you would put it in me for the first time," she said. She felt Lucius' cock twitch against her backside as she said this and he now was the one to take a shaky breath. 

"As you wish," he replied. "But you need to activate it first." He had somehow made a bottle of Slipperiness Oil manifest and had liberally covered the mirror finish of the toy with it. 

"How?" 

"The incant is _Iniciaris_ to begin, _Terminio_ to cease."

"Do I need a wand?"

"No, but your skin contact is vital, so you do need to touch it." 

Hermione touched it gingerly, trying not to get too much Slipperiness Oil on herself. " _Iniciaris_ ," she said. She felt it vibrate gently under her fingers.

" _Acceptio_ ," Lucius said. and once again, the dildo vibrated under her fingers. 

Hermione furrowed her brows, but didn't say anything, curious although she was as to why Lucius had said a counter-incant, she would find out soon enough. She took her hand off the toy and once again spread her labia apart in anticipation, her eyes now drawn back to the mirror on the floor. Lucius pushed the dildo into her pussy, which spread to accommodate it, inch by inch, until it was all the way in her. As it did, Lucius let out a sigh of pleasure. Hermione thought the toy would be cold, but it was surprisingly warm and had give to it, just like--"Oh my goodness," she said, suddenly realizing what was happening. 

Lucius let go and the toy stayed in her of its own volition and started to move in and out of her, vibrating and creating new waves of sensation deep inside of her. "That's right, Hermione," Lucius said in her ear, his voice low with desire, "when you're using this on your own, when you're letting it inside of you, it's actually me you're getting off to. As I said, this is no ordinary sex toy." He moaned. "It's very personal, to just the two of us." 

Hermione's breath had started to increase with the pressure that had started building within her pelvis. "You can feel this?" she asked as the toy slid deep into her and back out again.

"I can," Lucius whispered. "If I will it. It gives me the choice, and if I consent, I get to have you while you stimulate yourself, regardless of where you or I are at the time." 

Hermione suppressed a smirk; it was exactly the kind of toy Lucius would get her, one that benefited him as much if not more than it benefited her. Still, it was perversely intimate and touching nonetheless. The toy sped up, both its pace in moving in and out and its vibration and Hermione felt her inner thighs tighten as she neared orgasm. Watching it in the mirror increased her arousal, as if she was watching a dirty movie starring herself. Hermione spread her legs even more over the mirror and found herself leaning back onto Lucius. He moved his hands back up her ribcage and onto her breasts, fondling her nipples with his fingers as his lips and tongue found her earlobe and neck once again. 

The tension finally broke as Hermione came hard, clamping her lips shut so as not to be overheard and panting short, shallow breaths as her orgasm poured through her, filling her up with rapture. When she finished, she slid the dildo out of herself. " _Terminio_ ," she said. The toy fell still and silent.

She once again leaned back on Lucius, catching her breath. "Better than a candle?" he asked, his voice lightly mocking.

"Definitely," she said. Hermione then sat up. "Can I still have the original though? Because it _is_ right here..." She turned around and looked pointedly at his cock.

"It does seem a waste not to let you avail yourself of it, now that you mention it," Lucius said with a smile. He got up and sat on the couch before beckoning her over.

Hermione too got up and moved over to the couch, standing over him. He reached out both hands for her and pulled her close. As she had with the mirror, Hermione straddled him and he guided his cock into her. She wrapped her arms around him and rocked her pelvis against him, driving his cock in deeper and pressing her clit against his lower abdomen. Now Hermione was the one to kiss him, his neck, under his jaw, his ear, her tongue tasting his skin. Her longing for Lucius was passionate almost to the point of scaring her. There was nowhere else in the entire realm of Merlin that she would rather be in this moment and the implications of that were staggering to her, but she didn't dare dwell on them in that moment. 

Lucius moved his hands up her back and then under her rear end, pushing against her as she moved, once again building her pleasure to a head. As he started to come, she did too and as she did, she kissed him, drawing his lower lip in between hers and running her tongue over it. Her orgasm was made all the more intense from the intimacy she felt in this position in which they were so closely entwined. Hermione's breasts were pressed hard enough into Lucius' chest that she could feel his heart beating against hers. 

Spent, Lucius rested his forehead against her neck, his lips brushing her collarbone as he caught his breath. As he did, Hermione ran her hands into his hair, catching her own breath as well. Lucius' hands were on her back still, his arms embraced tightly around her almost as if he was afraid to let her go. Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying this moment of pure joy she felt wrapped in his arms, made all the more precious for the fact that it would be transient. 

Indeed, hard on the heels of her joy came Ginny's words spoken to her so recently, _this feeling you have, whether it's real or whether it's one of his elaborate manipulations,_ whatever _is going on between you two can't possibly continue._ The thought drove the feelings of joy right out of Hermione's head and she disengaged herself from Lucius and got up, her heart in her mouth suddenly. "Well," she said, injecting cheer into her voice that she didn't actually feel. "That was a nice break in the tedium of the day." 

"You certainly needn't rush off on my account," Lucius said, smiling at her lazily and putting his hands behind his head. 

Hermione hesitated. It was true that she wasn't in a hurry to rush back to chip away at Knarl transport law. Still naked, she walked over to one of his floor-to-ceiling enchanted windows. "What are we looking at here?" she asked. "Is this a real forest, or just an imagined one?"

Lucius got up off the couch as well and joined her. "Oh, it's very real," he said, standing behind her and running his hands up and down her arms. "It's the Bialowieza Forest between Belarus and Poland, the oldest forest in the world." 

"It's beautiful," Hermione said. 

"Indeed it is, both in terms of physical beauty and in having the virtue of being the most magically potent place on earth." He leaned in and gently kissed her neck, raising the hairs on Hermione's arms. 

"Really?" Hermione said. "Why isn't there a school of magic there or any wizard structures that I would have heard of?"

"It can't be done," Lucius said flatly, "But don't think for a moment it hasn't been attempted. However, it's protected by beings the likes of which do not exist anywhere else: old gods, fey, and woodland spirits of overwhelming power. Every time it's been attempted, the structures have been destroyed by the elements, absorbed back into the moss of the ground, the wood of the trees, the water of the rivers..." His voice trailed off in reflection. 

A chill ran up Hermione's spine. As much as it sounded terrifying, it also sounded fascinating. "Do witches and wizards ever visit?" 

Lucius looked at her and smiled. "Of course," he said. "How do you imagine I was able to conjure the enchantment?"

"You've been there?" Hermione said, her voice tight with excitement.

"Oh, many times," Lucius said. "But I should warn you, Apparating there is extremely dangerous." He moved away from the window and started dressing once more.

"Why?" Hermione followed him, also gathering her clothes and starting to put them back on.

"Pretend we're sharing an elevator ride, Miss Granger, and in our brief time together, you must explain Apparition theory to me. How would you go about it?"

Hermione frowned. Apparition was a complicated concept, difficult to articulate in the short term, but she tried: "Well, if you're Apparating somewhere and you know where you're going, you use the three D's, Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. If you don't know where you're going, you can obtain a series of coordinates that rely on ley lines: alignments of magical and natural energy that cover the surface of the earth. The closer to a ley line something is, the more magical it is. Places where ley lines cross are called convergences and they possess the greatest magical power of all. Hogwarts is one such place. Depending on whom you ask, Hogwarts is built on a convergence of either three or four ley lines. According to Wylkie Twycross--"

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Granger, but we've reached my floor," Lucius said, cutting her off with a smirk. 

Hermione gave him a withering look. They had both finished dressing and now sat on the couch facing the windows. "Is Malfoy Manor built on a convergence?"

"It is indeed," Lucius said. "A convergence of two." Hermione felt her eyebrows lift. It explained a great deal, especially the power in the Fell Circle, which may have been the exact convergence, but Hermione couldn't help but wonder how many bodies the Malfoys had created and then stepped over to secure such a magical place to construct their ancestral seat. Lucius continued, "The Bialowieza Forest is a convergence of seven, which not only is an extraordinary number, but also a sacred one." 

" _Seven?_ " Hermione asked, her voice strained. She had never heard of a convergence of that magnitude. 

Lucius let his gaze wander over the forest once again. "As you might imagine, trying to Apparate next to such a powerful convergence is risky, not because one might splinch, but because chances are excellent you'll Apparate right out of our world and into the realm of the fey. Do that, and you will likely never return."

"Or if you do, 200 years will have passed in a span of a few days," Hermione said, old legends that she had read now coming back to her mind. 

"Precisely," Lucius said. "You're dealing in and in fact _relying_ on fey magic, which is famously unreliable, with entirely different rules and precepts from our own magical theory. Therefore, if you simply try and Apparate, you do it at great personal risk. However, if you do it for a reason the fey find acceptable, such as paying a fey debt, or as an act of true love, or some other such nonsense, it might work. Or Apparating with a piece of bread in your pocket might work, or it might not. In any event, most witches and wizards do not find it worth the risk. The magic of that place is dangerous and capricious." 

"Is it Dark Arts?" Hermione asked.

Lucius smiled ruefully. "Fey find the idea Dark and Light magic a profane oversimplification of something far more abstract and one of the most arrogant constructions of human wizards and witches." 

Hermione looked at him. "You agree with them, don't you?"

"Not exactly," he answered. "I like knowing the rules as much as you do, even though I may not agree with the ones the Ministry has set forth regarding magical morality. Again, comparatively speaking, our system is a simple one." He took his wand out. "Observe, if you would." He pointed his wand at the back of his left hand. " _Dermium percutio,_ " he said. Immediately a laceration split across his knuckles. Blood dripped slowly down between his fingers. He watched it dispassionately for a moment. " _Dermium immendo,_ " he then said and the wound closed without a scar. "The first is Dark Arts, the second is not." He looked back at Hermione. "What could be simpler?"

"Do you mean more simplistic?" Hermione said, smiling.

"Very good, Miss Granger, that is exactly what I mean. However, the ethics of the Destructive Magic Restriction Act is a concept we've discussed already, and you know my feelings about it. The first spell may be Dark Arts, but it has its uses, healing uses, that have nothing to do with evil. Again, it depends on the intention of the user, and yet its use is in rigid violation of our laws." He stood up and walked over to his desk once more. He found a cloth in one drawer and used it to clean the blood off of his hands. 

Hermione watched him, perversely wondering how many times he had done that. She stood and walked towards him. "What about the forest? When did you go?"

"Oh, I can't tell you that," Lucius said. "Last time I was there, I was sworn to secrecy by those very beings that have generously allowed me passage and even occasional dwelling within. You see, Miss Granger, one cannot traverse their realm, even to walk in without setting up some sort of understanding with them, as they distrust all witches and wizards as a matter of principle. I have been fortunate enough to have struck such an arrangement, but it must be kept secret from everyone, I'm afraid."

Hermione felt her face fall in disappointment. "You are simply the worst," she said angrily. She picked up her things, fuming. "You know how much I love magic and how curious I am about every aspect of it. And then you tell me about the most magical place on earth and how you've visited it, but won't tell me about it, or give me any idea of how to get there safely." She paused to glare at him. "You can tell me nothing, truly?"

Lucius smiled enigmatically. " _When light is at its brightest darkness and darkness is thus decieved, from four moons hence that light shall be received, and then forty days more will run apace, when another light shall seek and find it in that place,_ " he recited. 

Hermione's scowl deepened. "What in Merlin's name does that mean?" 

Lucius shrugged. "No idea," he said, his smile not wavering. He took their new toy and put it back in its box, before putting it carefully under Hermione's arm with the rest of her stack of things. "It's just what I was told last time I was there. Do let me know if you can figure it out, Brightest Witch of Her Age." He walked to the door and opened it for her. 

Hermione drew herself up and walked by him with as much as dignity as she could muster with a box containing an enchanted, personalized dildo under her arm. 

"Oh, and Miss Granger," Lucius said after she had exited. "Please don't hesitate to avail yourself of the material that I gave you...all of the material." He smiled at her once more.

"Only the material I find of use, Mr. Malfoy," she said frostily. "There are some pieces here that I may find irrelevant following this last conversation." She jerked her head towards the box.

Lucius held his hand out. "I can take back anything for which you do not have a use," he countered, continuing to smile.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted the toy, but she didn't want him to know it. After a moment, she sighed heavily, knowing that he had successfully cornered her. "I wouldn't want to burden you," she said finally. 

Lucius smirked in triumph. "Until next time, Miss Granger. Feel free to _initiate_ contact with me whenever I can be of use." 

Hermione just shook her head before walking back into the atrium and back to her new Knarl trade professional life. As she walked down the flag-covered hallway, she reflected that Lucius Malfoy was thoroughly insufferable and in that same moment realized that she had completely fallen for him.


	17. 45: Appeal; 46: Retribution; 47: Revelation; 48: Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing a gut-wrenching decision, Ginny turns to Lucius for help. Fred and George find themselves backed into a corner, in which Lucius raises the stakes by offering them a new deal. Unrest in Hermione and Lucius' relationship reflects the larger wizarding world as summer turns to winter. Frustrated with Lucius' reticence, Hermione takes matters into her own hands and finally learns a truth about Lucius' time in Azkaban, but finds the cost for this information is steep.
> 
>  _Hermione picked up the memory and looked at it. For just a moment, she felt a stab of doubt._ Do you love him? _she asked herself._ If you do, stay your hand and leave it alone; trust him. _Hermione shook her head. It was no good: she simply had to know. The temptation was too great and whether she loved Lucius or not, she had to uncover the truth about his true allegiance, a truth that he had deliberately withheld from her since the very beginning. Taking a deep breath, Hermione cracked the top off the vial and poured the silvery liquid smoke into the swirling water of the Pensieve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. A lot happens in this chapter, in these four chapters. The B story on this work is quite Weasley-hater-y, perhaps more than I had initially intended (but the work _is_ about Lucius really and well, we all know how he feels). That said, Ginny doesn't exactly win, but she doesn't lose either. She does, however, realize that she's been sort of an a-hole. The whole thing is just sort of tragic for her, I suppose, but I don't think it would be insurmountable for her. I think in the end it would make her stronger, and would definitely make her a better Auror. 
> 
> There are also going to be people reading this who are going to be appalled by Hermione's decision. What I have to say to that is this: if she behaved herself and trusted Lucius at his word, there would be no story. Hell, if everyone behaved themselves and made good, moral, smart decisions in this work or really in any work, there would be no story. Besides, the Hermione _I_ know would have to find out the truth, regardless of the consequences, veritable Pandora that she is. That said, I'm going to be spending this and the next two chapters beating Lucius like a rogue Bludger. Yup, things get pretty rough for him and I don't pull (m)any punches. Gotta break him down to build him back up...

CHAPTER 45: APPEAL

The week following her horrible discovery passed quickly for Ginny and once again, the weekend was before her. She had withheld the list of names that Lucius had given her from Robards, but had surreptitiously started to make connections. In at least a few of the cases, the patients knew one of the people on the list, and in one case, was related. A few of the people on Lucius' list had agreed to questioning, and Robards was working diligently on building a case against Jonathan Gibbon, who was already suspected of being a Death Eater in addition to his brother Ralph, who was wanted and on the loose. 

Robards was close enough on Gibbon for Ginny to start to sweat, because once Robards had a warrant from the Wizengamot, it would trigger a series of events that would inevitably lead back to Fred and George, and thus to her. First, Robards would take Jonathan Gibbon in. Second, Robards and a squad from Magical Law Enforcement would raid Gibbon's house. Third, Robards would interrogate him, and one or both of these two measures would unearth the poison, which would then be traced back to her brothers. Ginny had to talk to Lucius before that as she truly believed he was the only one who could extricate her before she was forced to implicate her brothers. She supposed she should go to Robards first, but in a weird way, he seemed less understanding than Lucius, given his reaction to the cases specifically and to Dark Wizardry in general, where Lucius was, in fact, a Dark Wizard. Moreover, and perhaps most importantly, Lucius already knew, and had done almost nothing with the information.

Luckily, the Monday following a rainy, muddy, dreary weekend at the Burrow marked Lucius' return to the Ministry. Ginny arrived at work earlier even than Robards, and left him a note saying she was going to be late. She then made her way up to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The door was locked, so she leaned against the wall to wait. At 8:30, Imelda let her in, reminding her coolly that although Mr. Malfoy would be in directly, without an appointment, there was no guarantee that Ginny would be able to meet with him. Ginny told her firmly that it was fine and that she would take her chances. With an invitation from Imelda, Ginny sat down to wait in one of the chairs next to the water feature.

Ginny sat with her chin in her hands, listening to the quiet burble of water on rocks, all while wondering how it didn't make Imelda have to use the toilet in hearing it all day long. As it was, however, Ginny didn't have to wait long. At 8:37, Lucius strode through the door. As soon as he came in, Ginny stood. Lucius looked at her quizzically, but said nothing, and so Ginny slowly sat back down. Lucius walked up to Imelda; they greeted each other, and held a quiet conference in which they each took the occasional glance at Ginny, but neither actually acknowledged her. Ginny watched them, unsure of what the verdict would be.

Finally, Lucius smiled at Imelda, walked into his office and shut the door behind him. Imelda said nothing to Ginny, but sat back down at her desk and took a quill to the puzzle section of the _Daily Prophet_ as her dark eyes flicked quickly over the clues and her quill filled in the answers. With no such diversion of her own, Ginny sighed and went back to listening to the water feature. After a few more minutes, Imelda stood and walked over to her. "Mr. Malfoy will see you now," she said.

"Thank you," Ginny responded, attempting not to sound as eager and relieved as she felt.

As Imelda opened the lacquered black door with its engraved brass nameplate, Ginny squared her shoulders and braced herself for whatever abuse Lucius was likely to inflict upon her. If he was going to make her eat humble pie, so be it. If he was going to make her apologize for how she acted at the Vow, so be it. If he was going to make her admit that she knew her brothers were breaking the law, so be it. As she had told Fred and George, although she loved them, her days of defending them were limited; in fact, as of today they were at an end. 

At this point, Ginny felt desperate enough to extricate herself from her untenable situation that she would do anything that Lucius asked of her. Her position was thus unfortunate, but in resolving herself to her appeal, Ginny found it slightly easier to stomach the reality of having to expose her throat to him. In following Imelda into Lucius' office ( _lair_ , she thought), Ginny reflected that these sorts of compromises seemed to be part of growing up.

Ginny walked into the well-appointed room with its floor-to-ceiling enchanted windows, green accoutrements, and general feeling of luxury. In taking it in, Ginny couldn't help but contrast it in her mind with her father's shabby, crowded, untidy office in the Ministry. Lucius didn't stand when she came in, which some might perceive as a deliberate slight, but Ginny only surmised that if that's what it was, it was the first of many, and they both knew she was in his office as a supplicant, certainly not as an equal. Lucius wouldn't even look at her, but wrote on a piece of parchment. Imelda quietly excused herself.

Ginny stood awkwardly next to the door, waiting for Lucius to acknowledge her presence. The ticking of the clock on his desk and the scratching of his quill made the only sounds in the room. After what seemed like an eternity, Lucius finally glanced up at her for a moment before looking back down at his parchment. "Miss Weasley, if you're searching for a Left-Handed Wand Core Extractor, I'm afraid you're destined to leave empty handed." 

"I think you know why I'm here," Ginny answered quietly. She stared at her toes, lined up on the very edge of his thick, green carpet. 

"Look up at me," Lucius commanded, not raising his voice, but still letting his arrogant tone convey the superiority he no doubt perceived he had over her.

As she had while under his Imperius Curse, Ginny obeyed miserably, forcing herself to look into his eyes.

"You presume a great many things, Miss Weasley," Lucius said, his words sharp with displeasure. "First, that I would be willing to meet with you. Second, that I would be willing to help you. And third, that in knowing what I do, I would even hesitate to destroy you along with the rest of your family." He fixed her with his pitiless gaze. "I could, you know."

"I know," Ginny said, feeling a tear slip down her face and dashing it quickly aside with the back of her hand.

"The question is, should I?"

"No," Ginny whispered.

"Whyever not?" Lucius asked. "I owe you no allegiance, no favors, nor do you have anything to offer me in return. In fact, you went out of your way to verbally antagonize me last time we spoke at any length."

Ginny cleared her throat and gathered herself, but found once again that her gaze lingered on her toes. "You are currently in the process of allowing this meeting, as to the first presumption. As to the second, you already offered your help to me last week in the hallway. As to the third, you've already come close to destroying me not once, but twice, first very literally when I was 11 and you gave me a cursed diary that brought me a hair's breadth from death, and second, when you held me in your dungeon, at your mercy, and tortured me." She took a deep breath. "I need no further convincing that you could destroy me if you chose to." She looked up at him. "And yet, here I still stand. For my part, I know the truth about Fred and George, or at least have a very strong suspicion about them. I also have done as much as I can to help Auror Robards with the investigation, short of telling him that Fred and George are brewing and selling poison and thus betraying my own brothers."

"Then I don't see what help I can possibly render you at this time, if you already know the truth and have been hesitant in bringing it forth, Miss Weasley," Lucius said. "It seems obvious to me that the next step would be to appeal to the very capable Auror Robards, not to me." 

"But it can't come from me," Ginny said earnestly. "The fact that my brothers are culpable and I know about it puts me in the terrible position of either betraying my family or breaking the law myself and putting more witches and wizards in harm's way."

Lucius leaned back and steepled his hands in front of his chin. "Very well, I shall then phrase my question differently: what exactly is it that you want me to do about your problem?"

Ginny licked her lips. "I want to be taken off of the case, and I don't want to be the one to turn my brothers in. I know that you have the Minister of Magic's ear, particularly where I'm concerned. Through the back channels I'm sure you control, I need Shacklebolt to quietly assign me to something else. I further know that if Auror Robards keeps up on his very strong lead with Gibbon, my brothers will be caught at the longest by the end of the week, and at the shortest by the end of the day no matter what I do, but I can't be the one to split my family in half." Another tear made its way down her face. "I just can't." 

Something almost like empathy flashed in Lucius' eyes and Ginny looked at him in surprise, before he adopted a look of contempt once again. It had been as quick as lightning, but Ginny had definitely seen it. 

"So you admit then that your brothers are vile, contemptible Dark Wizards?" Lucius asked.

Ginny took a deep breath, almost relieved that their meeting was coming down to the crux of what Lucius wanted from her. "I do."

"And that they're greedy hypocrites and liars who deserve to rot in Azkaban for brewing and selling poisons that are very nearly killing perfectly innocent people?" The hatred in his voice made each word into a curse that sent a chill down Ginny's spine, but again, it wasn't anything she hadn't expected. 

"Yes," she replied.

"And finally that in spite of knowing all of this prior to the Vow, I did you a tremendous favor by putting a good word in for you at the Auror office?"

"Yes," Ginny said unflinchingly. If this was going to be the price for Lucius' assistance, so help her Merlin, she would pay it. Although, as she had the day of the Vow, she hoped against hope that this would be her last time dealing with Lucius Malfoy. 

Lucius smiled suddenly. "Excellent. Then I'll tell your brothers what you said when I visit them in detention." He pushed his chair back and stood.

"What?" Ginny asked, her heart suddenly racing.

"The Weasley twins were brought in early this morning, mere moments after you arrived, I would imagine." Lucius rolled up the parchment upon which he had been writing. 

Ginny blanched. She was too late. It was all going to be traced back to her as well and she would be in trouble for not disclosing what she knew to Robards as soon as she knew it, and her short-lived career as an Auror would be over in its infancy. 

Lucius held a stick of sealing wax over the lit candle on his desk before letting it drip onto the rolled parchment, appearing almost as bright drops of blood. He then pressed his seal in and put the parchment aside. He wet his fingers and snuffed the candle by pinching the wick, making it hiss, while looking back up at Ginny, his gray eyes glinting. "It's over," he said as the candle wick continued to smoke slightly. The smell reminded Ginny of birthdays at home with all of her family around her, singing to her, celebrating her as Fred and George lifted her up in her chair and parading her around the yard, carousing. It would never happen again. 

Lucius came around the desk. "Oh, calm yourself, Miss Weasley," he said in disgust as tears continued to roll down Ginny's cheeks, tears she didn't bother to brush away. She had already debased herself by even coming to Lucius' office; a few more minutes of indignity would hardly matter now. "You've already been cleared from the case. For your information, when Jonathan Gibbon was taken in last night, he gave a full confession and as you might imagine, your brothers' poisons made an appearance in said confession. Magical Law Enforcement is turning over their shop as we speak. As soon as your brothers' names were mentioned, Kingsley Shacklebolt took you off because, as you said, your involvement had suddenly become a conflict of interest, regardless of what you knew or didn't know." Lucius smirked. "As it happens, you're not in any trouble whatsoever, unless they confided in you at any point or you assisted them, and that didn't happen, correct?"

Ginny shook her head, but her relief was marred by the awful reality of what was about to come to pass for her family.

Lucius took the rolled parchment and put it in an inner pocket of his robes. "In sum, this meeting was entirely unnecessary for you. Still, it has been particularly delightful that you _did_ choose to come to me--a wizard whom you swore could not buy you, by the by--to help you slither out of any responsibility for turning in two inexcusably guilty members of your family. How it must have _tortured_ you to have to come to that decision. I dearly hope you realize that had I actually done what you asked of me today, you would have sold yourself to me utterly." Lucius sighed in content. "It's a delicious little morsel for my Monday morning. In fact, thus far this interlude has been most entertaining, and it's only just begun."

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Malfoy," Ginny said stiffly. 

Lucius smiled once more, but his eyes carried a haunted look. "My pleasure," he said. He moved over to the door and opened it for her. 

Ginny moved past him back towards the reception area, feeling numb and more confused than ever about Lucius Malfoy and the bigger questions of right and wrong his involvement in her life had presented.

CHAPTER 46: RETRIBUTION

Fred sat in an uncomfortable metal chair in the Ministry of Magic's detention center interrogation room and reflected that this might indeed be the worst day of his life. When Gibbon had been taken in, he had rolled over on the twins quickly. Once the shop was searched, Fred knew that it was already over. The one thing saving him from complete panic was George by his side. Magical Law Enforcement had taken their wands and then they had been separated for the initial interrogation, but they had both confessed independently of each other, each taking full responsibility for brewing and selling poison. There was little point in anything else, which their Ministry-appointed Advocate had pointed out as well; diverging from the truth would only intensify their sentence, whatever that might be. Following this, Magical Law Enforcement didn't really seem to take exception to putting Fred back together with his twin, which was of great comfort to both of them. Unfortunately, although they could see humor in almost any situation, they both were having difficulty with their current one. 

Their interrogator was a short, intense, dark-haired Auror named Robards. He clearly had no regard for them, but was still fairly respectful and mostly wanted to know to whom they had been selling. Fred made out a list for him of the six people who had bought the poisons. Following that, Fred volunteered that they had already made and stock-piled the antidotes and even described where they were located in the shop. "We're not completely terrible people," he offered at that point but Auror Robards wasn't buying it.

"If you were good people, you wouldn't have made and sold poison in the first place, and you certainly would have stopped when you realized you were hurting other witches and wizards," Robards had pointed out, lowering his black eyebrows and deepening the lines already between them. Robards had then brought in a list of people who had been taken to St. Mungo's on account of the poison and although he would not disclose their names, he did read off what had happened to each. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

In the beginning, Fred hadn't really thought about the repercussions of what they had been doing, but had mostly been basking in his and George's own cleverness, ingenuity, and business savvy. However, now that they were in the biggest trouble of their lives, Fred could not shy away from the devastation they had wreaked as a result. He also knew the worst was yet to come as he and George would have to confront their parents and the rest of the family once their felony became public, which would happen sooner rather than later. 

Granted, Fred was used to he and George disappointing their parents, and much of their reactions to his and George's antics Fred had let roll off of him over the years. But this was different. Auror Robards had thrown around words and phrases like _Dark Wizardry, destructive magic_ and worst of all, _Azkaban_. Fred was also used to authority figures using scare tactics to manipulate those who have found themselves in trouble; in fact Fred had identified it as a signature move of both Argus Filch and Professor Snape early in his Hogwarts career. However, even Fred could not shrug off the distinct possibility of incarceration and a criminal record this time around. He shivered in his hard metal chair as he pondered he and George's future.

Now Robards was gone and Fred and George sat in the interrogation room, waiting for whatever would happen next. "Hey, we match today, George," he said half-heartedly, noting their identical plain orange robes with _Detainee_ written up the side of the trouser leg in black block lettering.

"Identical as always, Fred," George replied, but he too sounded subdued. He looked at Fred. "Do you think they'll let us share a cell in Azkaban?" 

Fred shrugged. He hoped so, but he just wasn't sure. "It depends." 

"Depends on what?"

"On your linguistic capabilities, George." Fred stuck his tongue out at George and wiggled it suggestively.

Before George could retort, the door opened and Lucius Malfoy walked in. Fred felt a surge or relief in seeing him. They were, after all, business partners after a fashion. "Are you here to spring us out?" he asked hopefully as Lucius pulled out Robards' chair and sat, flipping his long blond hair over his shoulder as he did. 

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Weasley," Lucius said with contempt. "You and your brother are Azkaban bound; not even I can change that."

"What about our deal?" Fred asked, feeling his heart speed up with the beginnings of panic and no small amount of anger.

"What deal?" Lucius asked.

Fred and George exchanged a glance. "The deal in which you're our silent parner," George answered.

"I prefer to make deals with wizards who are clever enough not to be caught at their criminal pursuits, lucrative though those pursuits may be," Lucius said airily, before gesturing to the twins. "And this latest misadventure of yours is hardly what I would call silent. In fact, it's about to become deafening, thunderous even in its cacophany..."

"Then what in Merlin's name are you doing here?" George asked, opening his hands on the table in front of him.

Now Lucius rested his own folded hands on the table and smiled coldly. "In my infinite generosity, I'm here to refine our arrangement." 

"Can you get us out?" Fred asked, making each word slow and deliberate. As far as he was concerned, nothing else mattered.

"Impatient, aren't we?" Lucius raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly do you have to be right now?"

Fred leaned back and folded his arms. "Well, can you?" he asked.

Lucius sighed. "Perhaps at some point in the future, but certainly not on this particular day," he said. "My influence in the wizarding world is well-established despite my own alleged transgressions, but even my sway will not keep you from serving some form of Azkaban sentence, particularly as my involvement in your case must be kept discrete." He now leaned back and casually pulled invisible lint from the shoulder of his bespoke black robes. "And I personally wouldn't have it any other way."

"You want us to go to prison," Fred said, incredulous. 

Lucius now looked back at him, his expression amused and almost gloating. "I knew it was a very real possibility, even when I struck the first deal with you. The both of you were so eager, so trusting and so obscenely greedy that night at Patrona. The fact that you accepted my terms with almost no hesitation...well, suffice to say that sort of impulsiveness and lack of caution generally leads to some sort of encounter with the law." 

"You didn't give us a choice," George fired back.

Lucius folded his hands once more in front of him, locking his fingers and looking at them. "Ah, but your demeanor towards me changed dramatically once large sums of Galleons showed up on the table. At that moment, the two of you jumped in with both feet, regardless of what sort of danger might be lurking under the water. Luckily, my own plans allowed for any number of foreseeable ends for you gentlemen, including this one. One might even go so far as to say that I was counting on you eventually slipping up, getting arrested and even--well, _especially_ \--going to Azkaban."

"Did you engineer it?" Fred asked, his pulse now racing in his anger. As he had feared, his and George's bedding by Lucius Malfoy had indeed resulted in their being royally screwed by him.

Lucius shook his head. "No," he replied. "You going to Azkaban and thus terminating the portion of this relationship that actually makes me money is not what I had initially envisioned. But again, I can certainly turn this course to my advantage, which, make no mistake, gentlemen, I fully plan to do."

"So, how can us going to Azkaban possibly benefit you?" Fred said.

Withoug a word, Lucius reached into an inner pocket of his robes and pulled out three vials of those very products of Fred and George's that had landed them in an interrogation room in the first place. The vials were of smooth, shiny, black glass with purple cork stoppers in them, each no more than an inch tall. Lucius set them in a tidy row and then turned each slowly so the twins could read the labels. As he did, Fred could see that Lucius had selected one from each of the three currently on the market: _Sepsis Special, Hemorrhage Herein_ , and _Shock Value_. 

Lucius ran his finger over the top of all three, almost caressing them. His eyes found the twins' once again. "Because you asked, once you're ensconced in Azkaban, there is a task I require of you." He continued to slide his finger up and down the line. 

Fred didn't like where this was going one bit. "What sort of task?" he asked, eyeing the poisons.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Weasley," Lucius said with false contrition, "I misspoke just now. When I said _a_ task, what I really meant..." His mouth curved up in a cruel smile. "...was three."

CHAPTER 47: REVELATION

The rest of the summer passed quickly for Hermione. She didn't see Lucius as often as she would have liked, but that was the age-old pitfall of being a mistress rather than a girlfriend or wife, not that she would have wanted either of those things from Lucius. Her feelings for him were strong, but they remained stubbornly in opposition. As much as she enjoyed being with him, Lucius was persistently elusive about his true allegiance and about his past. Every time Hermione ran her hands up his bare back as they coupled in bed and she felt those three raised lines on his flesh, it still made her feel resentful towards him in equal measure to feeling tender. 

On the other hand, Lucius was true to his word about Dark Arts, teaching her from his own vast knowledge and experience, but again, only speaking in generalities regarding the practice of Dark Magic; rarely was it, "when I did it..." it was almost always "when one does it..." His reluctance to trust her drove a wedge that Hermione suspected they both felt. Lucius excelled at deflecting her questions with a quip or a snide remark, and Hermione would sigh exasperatedly, while her frustration with him grew. Then he would reveal a glittering bit of lore, a small dose of forbidden knowledge, and Hermione would forgive him, although part of her would wonder if he was still very carefully manipulating her. 

Also, he would make her come, over and over, and that was the other problem, and why she could forgive him far too easily: the sex was glorious. As Lucius had predicted, having a place to meet made their arrangement far easier than if Hermione had taken a flat in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. He would visit her most often on Friday evenings, after both of them had finished work. They would sometimes eat together, although more often than not, Lucius would arrive later. Evenings that Lucius could spend more time at her house were of course Hermione's favorite. These were the nights in which the foreplay was unhurried and varied, and thus they could lavish salacious attention on each other.

Sometimes it was in the bath, where Lucius would wash her, massaging her scalp and making it tingle before running soapy hands over her breasts, stroking her nipples with lather before putting a hand down into the warm water between her legs and caressing her sex with his practiced fingers. Sometimes their positions would be reversed, with Lucius in the tub and Hermione casting a bubble-head charm on herself so she could submerge her head under the water for the purposes of taking his cock in her mouth. 

On nights like these, clean and warm from the bath, Lucius would lay her down on the bed and they would kiss. His hands would find all the places on her body that made her want crescendo straight into need, before he even found those same places with his mouth, which would really drive her to a frenzy. Finally, Lucius would position himself between her legs and push his cock into her, with long, slow strokes as if they both had all the time in the world, and that nothing was more important to either of them than what they were doing in that moment. Time stopped then and Hermione merely experienced him inside of her as she touched him, pushed her hips up to meet him, and whispered for him to push deeper, push harder, requests he would graciously accommodate. Alternatively, Lucius would lie back, and Hermione would straddle him, fucking him slowly or quickly as the mood suited her, taking her orgasms as she would while his cock ground deep into her.

The other nights, where they did not make the slow, sweet sort of love that Hermione relished, Lucius made up for it with ferocity, teasing, and delaying her orgasms as he had the night of the ball. When he was feeling dominant, he would sit down in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace and call Hermione over to him. He would make her stand in front of him, fully clothed while he just looked at her as she waited with her groin warming in mere anticipation of what was to come. Then he would give her commands that left no room for interpretation as they were simple and to the point, such as telling her which garment to take off, in what order. He was never snide or disrespectful, and he never raised his voice to her, but it was still understood that she was expected to obey, which she did with alacrity.

Lucius was a voyeur if nothing else. On some nights he would ask Hermione to masturbate in front of him, using either her fingers or her toy. Sometimes he would stroke his cock while she did it, and sometimes he would merely watch her, his gray eyes intent on her erect nipples, on her glistening, spread pussy and on her face. Hermione enjoyed it too, as there was something about Lucius' observation that heightened her arousal, something deliciously taboo about opening her legs for him, exposing her most secret places to his heated gaze, and then finally getting herself off in front of him and in his name. Some nights he would ask her to lie down and then he would use his fingers on her, or ply the toy on her himself, often pulling back right at the moment just before her release, before slowly building her up again. He then would be the one to spread her thighs and push his cock into her waiting opening, driving into her relentlessly as she cried out in ecstasy. 

The defining characteristic of these sorts of nights was that Lucius would call the shots, controlling when Hermione would touch him, use her mouth on him, and chiefly when she would come. In these instances, she could tell him no, of course, and refuse her consent, but she rather enjoyed this sort of power play on its own merit, and Lucius had never asked her to do anything she didn't want to do. If anything, these were the nights that Hermione gave her trust over to him completely and she ended feeling closer to him than ever. 

Hermione suspected that Lucius was pushing the envelope of her comfort, perhaps getting ready for the night that he could truly punish her. She hadn't asked for it, which had been their original arrangement, but she suspected she was being groomed for it nonetheless. Hermione also assumed that Lucius was giving her a lightened version of this controlling game of his because of the power the Vow had over him as well; he no doubt knew that going to far with her could be fatal to him.

In the apex of their time together over the summer, Hermione used his gift to her on some of the other nights that Lucius was not there, dutifully saying the incant so as to include him in her own pleasure, always. It aroused her greatly to think of him feeling every contraction of her sex on his cock as she wantonly thrust the enchanted dildo in and out of herself, crying out his name as she did. She did wonder, however, what would happen if she used the toy on herself at the same time that he made love to Narcissa, something he stated still to be doing. He didn't lord it over her, but it was hardly a secret. Hermione did ask him about what would happen if she activated it and he consented during an intimate moment with another lover. He had simply smirked and said, "It's best not to over-think it." That was as clear indication as ever that not only had the exact situation indeed happened, but that perhaps Lucius had encouraged it to happen. The moral implications of it made Hermione's head hurt so, as Lucius had suggested, she didn't over-think it.

As the summer progressed into fall, sightings of Voldemort increased in England, as did Death Eater activity, and these events only made the wedge between her and Lucius bigger as he said less and less to her, not just about Dark Arts, but about anything. As the leaves fell off the trees and the sky turned into a gunmetal gray color most days, Lucius became edgier and sharper with Hermione for reasons she suspected had nothing to do with her and his visits became less frequent. Now when he did visit with her, it was the controlling type of sex that he enjoyed rather than long, relaxing, drawn-out lovemaking that she enjoyed. Hermione didn't complain, but she surmised that a part of it may have stemmed from feeling as if he possessed less and less control over his own life as Voldemort's return and possible rise to power seemed imminent. The possibility of that happened filled her with dread.

Hermione called Lucius on it one day in November. "Why aren't you coming to see me as often as you once did?" she asked, enjoying a rare instance of lying in the crook of his arm, both of them glowing from their recent activity. For his part, Lucius was slowly stroking the silver scar on her arm, the one that indeed, he had given her, his eyes full of consternation that gave Hermione pause. Still, she felt close enough to him at that point that she believed it was safe to ask. 

As she might have predicted, Lucius pulled his arm from underneath her and sat up. "Oh, I wouldn't want you to get sick of the sight of me," he answered with a smile that was not quite bright enough to chase the shadows from underneath his eyes. "Why haven't you been using your first day of work gift as often?"

Hermione sat up too and frowned. The truth was that she had felt too lonely and down to use it much. "I haven't felt like it," she answered him honestly. She moved behind him on the bed and held him, pressing her breasts into his back and burying her nose in his hair. "I can't help but wonder if _you're_ sick of the sight of _me_ ," she murmured, rubbing her cheek over the silky platinum strands, all while thinking that it was criminally unfair that he had better hair than she did. 

"That's not it," Lucius said quietly. 

"Well then, what is it?"

Lucius stood then, and started putting his clothes back on. "I've simply been busy," he said, but Hermione found he couldn't meet her eyes. "It's nothing to do with you." He leaned down and kissed her and for a moment, Hermione felt reassured. "And I should warn you, I do have quite a long trip coming up." He had put on his trousers and now was buttoning his shirt. "That said, as a request, I'm going to ask that you refrain from touching yourself until I get back."

Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood as well. "Are you planning on touching yourself in the interim?" she asked. 

Lucius side-eyed her. "I rarely _plan_ to touch myself, Hermione; it just happens once in a while...on a whim, you might say." He smiled again. 

"Men are so weird," Hermione said, shaking her head. She shrugged into the ostrich feather-trimmed red velvet dressing gown Lucius had bought her and tied the tie. 

"You have no earthly idea," Lucius said, and for the first time in a while, his smile actually reached his eyes, making the laugh lines stand out. Hermione felt her heart turn over; this was Lucius at his most attractive, and it was as rare as sighting a unicorn. 

"In true Lucius Malfoy fashion, you have not answered my question," Hermione said, folding her arms in front of her.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Well, you know how much I hate double standards," Hermione said.

"Yes, you are a very egalitarian sort of a witch," Lucius said dryly. "However, I'm not commanding; I am merely making a request, even a suggestion." 

Hermione let her hands fall to her sides. "Fine," she said. "I'll refrain, because I have some self-control, unlike you, who apparently has none."

Lucius' smile did not waver in the slightest as he pulled his robe back on. "When I see no need for self-control, I simply don't bother," he replied. He kissed her once more and then Disapparated. 

At this point, Hermione hadn't seen Lucius in just over five weeks, the longest they had gone without seeing each other since she first agreed to become his mistress. Now it was three days before Christmas and rumor around the Ministry held that he was back, having arrived late the night before, but she had not yet seen him. That morning, she had gotten in the elevator at the Ministry, with the purpose of going to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to give them a report on illegal trafficking of a chimera. It had taken several days to track down eyewitness accounts, shipping receipts, and other tiny bits of minutiae, but she finally had a coherent report to deliver along with a briefing.

At the Department of Mysteries, the elevator made a stop. Hermione sighed in irritation. As it stood, she would be exactly on time and any unscheduled stops would make her late and she detested being late. She checked her watch for the fifth time that morning as the door opened. When she looked up, Lucius was right in front of her. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. 

She wanted to touch him badly. She wanted him to pull her skirt up, push her underwear down and take her right against the wall of the elevator without explanation or apology, but of course, all that was too dangerous within the Ministry, particularly this close to the Department of Mysteries, where she was pretty sure even her thoughts might be privy to the Unspeakables. She quickly scrubbed her mind clean of such filth and nodded. "Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice icily polite. She would just have to try and communicate with him as best she could, as who knew when they would have another chance.

"Miss Granger," he returned, before looking straight ahead. He pushed a button and the elevator started to move. 

Hermione cleared her throat. "Do you have holiday plans?" she asked. She made it sound like she was obligated to talk to him only because they happened to be sharing an elevator ride and the most base politeness obligated that she make small talk, but she didn't really want to. Perversely, she did consider explaining Apparition theory to him. 

"My wife is going to visit our son in the States, so not particularly, no." His tone echoed hers, just filling an otherwise awkward silence.

"So you're going to be alone in your empty house on Christmas?" With them moving farther from the Department of Mysteries, Hermione dropped the pretense minimally.

"No, I suspect I'll have company." 

Hermione smiled slightly. She didn't dare get too excited, but she had waited for months to get back into Malfoy Manor and a chance at the elusive memory, all the more important now for even more Death Eater activity, including some disappearances of Muggle-born witches and wizards. More than ever, Hermione needed to know the truth. "As for me, I'm headed for my parents' tonight," she said. "I'll be there until the day after Christmas." She needed to hold him off from coming to her house that day or the next, or even the one after that; making him wait even longer than he already had would increase the odds of him inviting her over. She looked at him out of the side of her eye. Lucius' expression had not changed much, but Hermione could see the characteristic tightening of his jaw that indicated he was annoyed. She felt somewhat guilty about manipulating him, but her desire to get the memory overshadowed everything else.

"However..." Hermione said, sighing deeply, "I find too much time in their house stifling, so I anticipate leaving on Christmas Eve, and then returning later on Christmas Day perhaps, if I can come up with a good excuse." The elevator stopped at Hermione's floor. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Anyway, this is me...see you around," she said vaguely, and got off without giving him the opportunity to say anything else. If she seemed indifferent, so much the better. He could come to her this time. 

Hermione got through her presentation and made it back to her office an hour later. An inter-office memo awaited her in her in-tray, marked with Ministry letterhead, but other than that, it was essentially a blank piece of parchment. Hermione took out her wand. " _Aparecium_ ," she said, pointing it at the memo. Words slowly materialized. _I'll drop my anti-Apparition shield for 10 minutes on the 24th, starting at 10 pm. If you're still feeling stifled, Apparate within the prescribed time and you may find me in the black and white room. No tests this time. I just want you. -L_

Hermione smiled affectionately, thinking that Lucius must be feeling particularly amorous, to make it this easy for her and to admit wanting her. The day had come to a close and Hermione packed up her things and went back to her house to prepare for going to her parents' and more importantly, to Malfoy Manor. She carefully packed a bag with extra clothes, as well as a silver bowl, a bottle of purified water and a Madeleine's Magic Marker. She checked everything over once more, shouldered the bag and Disapparated out of her house. 

As before, her visit to her parents' house had been pleasant and boring, dragging more as time went on. On Christmas Eve, she made an excuse about a work emergency and her parents were taken aback, but eventually understanding. At 10:00 exactly, Hermione departed her parents house with a promise to be back the following day. She rounded a corner and, taking out her wand, took a deep breath and Disapparated. 

She Apparated into the foyer of Malfoy Manor, outside the small drawing room. She let out the breath she had been holding. The thought of getting the memory was burning a hole in her mind, but she didn't dare do it now. She stood stock still for a moment, listening. The house was absolutely silent and dark. Hermione frowned. She walked over to the door of the small drawing room door and knocked. She waited for about 10 seconds, and after getting no response, she went gingerly in. No candles had been lit. 

She took out her wand. " _Lumos,_ " she said. Her heart had sped up somewhat. She walked slowly through the drawing room. The door to the bedroom beyond was open, so she went in. Still nothing, nobody, just a silent, empty room. She closed the door behind her. The room was warm at least, but still dark. She saw a piece of parchment lying on the bed. She walked over and picked it up. This time there was actual writing on it. _No point in hiding in his own house,_ Hermione thought as she skimmed it. 

_Delayed by the inevitable distraction, mundane and work-related. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back when I can. -L_

Hermione sighed. It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get for being inconvenienced but her situation was exasperating. On one hand, she had Malfoy Manor essentially free of Lucius or anyone else for that matter, but it was still too risky to go after the memory now as she had no clue when he would return. 

She Nox'd her wand, took off her coat and her bag and set them on a chair. She sat on the edge of the bed and tapped her foot. After a minute or two, she yawned hugely. Her eyes were burning and she realized she was exhausted. She figured she may as well lie down, as she had no idea how long it would be. She stripped off her clothes and got into the bed. She didn't typically sleep naked, so having the clean, white sheets touching her skin was something of a novelty, and if there were truly no games, she may as well be ready when Lucius did show up. 

Hermione wanted to read to give herself something to do, so she opened the drawer of the nightstand to see if there was a candle in there to use for light. There was a hairbrush and some self-flossing stringmints, but no candle. Hermione reached all the way into the back of the drawer and her hand closed around something smooth, round, and oblong. It felt like a potion flask. Curious, Hermione drew it out. She grabbed her wand. " _Lumos,_ " she said and then squinted at the label under her wand's blue light. "No way," she breathed as she made out the words: _Prima Nocte, L. M. & H. G._

She felt a grin split her face as she held the vial up. It still had about 3/4 of the potion inside. Hermione put it in her bag, feeling genuinely within her rights to do so. She didn't think she would ever dare to use it on Lucius, but she still felt it was dangerous for him to keep it as he had already abused it once. Still, she couldn't bring herself to dump it out either. She thought it best just to confiscate it and decide what to do with it later. 

Hermione Nox'd her wand again and hoped Lucius would come soon as she was having a difficult time staying awake. She yawned again, put her wand on the nightstand and lay down in the bed once more. Hermione then closed her eyes, telling herself one of the oldest lies, that it would only be for a second. 

She woke to find Lucius positioned between her parted legs, kissing her neck. Hermione slipped her arms around his back, drawing him close and breathing in his familiar scent. It wasn't until that moment that she realized how much she missed him. The way he was kissing her, she suspected that the feeling was mutual and that he wasn't planning on having this take long. It didn't matter; she was ready. Hermione used her mouth to get her hand wet, and then reached down between her legs and rubbed the head of his cock. Lucius breathed in her ear as she guided him into her, slowly because it had been a while and there had been zero foreplay. 

Lucius pushed his cock in to the hilt, sliding against her pussy walls that had not been spread or stimulated in over a month. Hermione moaned as she felt herself moisten his hard cock, her response to him rapid and eager enough to allow him to slip in and out of her easily. She had missed this as well. As requested, she had not touched herself once, which also had heightened her desire for him, as was no doubt Lucius' intention. He moved out and then back in again, eliciting another moan from her. On the next thrust, she brought her hips up to meet his. He moved faster and Hermione knew that neither of them would last very long. Hermione felt the tightening of her pelvic floor, the pressure and tension that she knew preceded orgasm. Lucius' breathing too had increased and as Hermione came, so did he. 

It was the quickest and quietest sex Hermione had ever had with him, nothing earth-moving, but it had satisfied a need long-held in both of them. A more prolonged encounter could happen sometime in the near future, probably in the morning. Without a word, Lucius rolled off of her and lay on the other side of the bed. Within a few minutes, Hermione heard his breath even out and she realized that he had fallen asleep. That surprised Hermione. It took a lot of trust to fall asleep next to another person, especially given their history, and in the time they had been together, this was the first time he had ever done it.

Hermione was still tired as well. She lay on her back next to him, the sweet ache lingering between her thighs. Once again, she closed her eyes, just for a moment. She didn't want to sleep, as this was the perfect opportunity to get the memory. It was only midnight. She had been asleep for just two hours. She opened her eyes and tried to keep them open, swearing to wait just long enough until she knew that Lucius was completely out. 

She must have drifted off as well because when she opened her eyes, the clock read 1:48. Hermione felt her eyes widen more as she waited with her breath held. She could still hear Lucius' steady breathing. It was now or never. Hermione carefully got out of the bed. She found her discarded underwear and donned them as well as slipping her camisole over her head. Not having time or sufficient light to locate the rest of her clothes, she quietly got out her wand, the silver bowl, the water, and the marker. 

Hermione opened the door that led from the bedroom to the drawing room, slipped through, and shut it behind her. The door from the drawing room to the hall was already open, so she walked out into the cavernous marble hallway and then down to Lucius' office. The house was as silent and dark as it had been when she first had come over. The moon was full, and its light was pouring through the many-paned windows, even more intense for the new-fallen snow that lay outside. 

At the door, Hermione held her breath and turned the knob. The door opened for her and she walked in, closing it behind her. She let her breath out slowly. When she was convinced it was safe, she crept over to the desk. The drawer that had held the memory was now closed. She set her belongings down on the desk and carefully opened the drawer. She sighed when she could see inside. The memory was gone. Hermione wasn't surprised: Lucius would have been careless indeed not to secure it with the others. 

Hermione knew where the memory must be, in the attic with the others, but it was almost assuredly locked up and probably would not respond to Alohamora. Thus, she would need to find a key. She pulled the chair back and opened the middle drawer of the desk. Inside, among ink bottles, quills, parchment, and the like, there was an envelope marked _Detritus_. Hermione smiled. She opened up the envelope and a key fell into her hand. 

Hermione looked furtively towards the door once again and then climbed up the bookshelf. Now she did cast Alohamora, and the trapdoor swung down to her. She climbed back up into the crawlspace and cast Lumos. Once again, she saw the cabinet with its eerie blue light shining through the closed doors. She took the key out, fitted it in the lock and turned it. She heard a series of clicks, like the vaults at Gringott's, probably designed in a similar way. The door opened and a series of shelves faced her. The memories were stacked neatly, drawer after drawer of them on these shelved. 

Hermione skimmed them, noting that each drawer was categorized: _Hogwarts, Family, Healing School,_ and the topmost drawer, _Azkaban_. She had no idea where the memory she was looking for would be, so she carefully removed the entire Azkaban drawer and took it with her as she climbed back into the study. 

When she had secured the trapdoor once again, Hermione set the drawer down on the desk. She started at one end and moved down the line until she found _L. Malfoy & R. Scrimgeour_, with the date. She took it out, hearing it clink gently against its sleeping siblings. Hermione then looked into it, seeing the nebulous smoke dance in its silvery suspension. Suddenly, another memory caught her attention. Unlike the others, all of which were the same silvery-white to blue, this one was as red as a glowing hot ember. Hermione pulled it up just enough to read the label. It had one word only, _Strikethrough_. She frowned. Once again, her mind burned with curiosity, as she had never seen a memory that color before.

But Hermione was there for one memory only; she dared not risk viewing any more. She set it down next to the bowl and began to create the Pensieve. She pulled the chair out and sat down, starting to focus her mind on what she had to do. First would be the runes on the bowl. She took out the magic marker. She pulled in a deep breath, cleared her mind, and started to draw: north, east, south, and west first, just as she had done during the NEWT exam. She drew in the supporting runes, placing them opposite their complements, in pairs. When she had finished all the couplets, Hermione placed the last one on. She then set the marker down and picked up her wand before uncapping her water bottle and swirling the water into the pan. When it was full, she pointed her wand at it and said the three ancient incants, these ones older than typical incants, and more Norse than Latin. 

The water glowed blue. Hermione peered in, once again attempting to clear her mind. The Pensieve shimmered a moment and her own face looked back; her reflection held up a wand and said the Norse incant back to her. Hermione licked her dry lips. She held her breath for just a moment and listened, all the while thinking, _Merlin help me if Lucius catches me at it_. She hadn't done something this risky since the dawn of her relationship with Lucius, back when she blackmailed him or broke into his house.

The silence pressed around her ears like cotton wool. She picked up the memory and looked at it. For just a moment, she felt a stab of doubt. _Do you love him?_ she asked herself. _If you do, stay your hand and leave it alone; trust him._ Hermione shook her head. It was no good: she simply had to know. The temptation was too great and whether she loved Lucius or not, she had to uncover the truth about his true allegiance, a truth that he had deliberately withheld from her since the very beginning. Taking a deep breath, Hermione cracked the top off the vial and poured the silvery liquid smoke into the swirling water. 

Before she could lose her nerve, Hermione plunged her face into the Pensieve. It was like diving off an infinitely high diving board, falling headfirst down further and further into a swimming pool she would never reach. She was surrounded by dark mist and what looked like water but wasn't wet, but her surroundings brightened as she descended. The water solidified and became rough stone and she came to a landing on a flagstone floor. Whatever room she had landed in had a glaringly bright, harsh light and Hermione threw her hand up to shield her eyes before she realized she was non-corporeal and that it was a waste of time and energy as her hand was transparent. Instead, she moved around the edge of the room so the light wasn't directly in her face. After a moment, Hermione's eyes adjusted. She was standing in an infirmary and the light source was a bright operating room light positioned above an exam table. 

"Bring him in 'ere," a voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar to Hermione, but she couldn't place it. "Make good and damn sure his ankle cuff is on, tight and all. Given his way in this room, he'll kill us to a man." Instinct made Hermione move so her back was against the wall, even though she knew no one would actually see her or hear her. Four people came into the room. The first was Stan Shunpike, whose voice Hermione had vaguely recognized. She had no idea he had taken a job as an Azkaban prison guard, but it made sense. With the Dementors having gone, Azkaban was sure to be short guards and the job likely paid better than the Knight Bus had.

Following Stan were two more guards, who held Lucius between them, hands cuffed in front of him. "Un-cuff him and put him face down," Stan ordered. As Lucius turned away from Hermione, she gasped. His back was covered in blood and as he moved, more dripped out of the three parallel gashes spanning between his shoulders. He was putting on a good show of stoicism, and Hermione would expect nothing less, but the rapid movement of his ribs and a slight resting tremor in his hands belied the facade. He was hurting. Despite all of this, Lucius resisted. 

"Problem, Malfoy?" Stan snapped.

"Summon the Minister of Magic at once," Lucius hissed back. 

"That's a good one," Stan said, tossing his head. "I'll get right on it." 

"I'm not moving until you do," Lucius said. 

"Three to one, you can't cast magic, _and_ you're carved up like a Christmas ham," Stan said, laughing. "What're you going to do?"

Lucius sighed as if Stan were boring him. "In this moment, nothing, you myopic fool. However, it is my money that at least in part drives the wizarding economy, including this prison, ironically. The Minister will respond promptly when he knows that it's me who's asking. That said, I'll be gone from here quite soon, but you'll still be here. When I am liberated, I'll see to it that you're licking the floors clean in this accursed place, especially considering how blatantly you allowed this to happen. You're already scared of me, so why don't you do what we both know you're going to do and stop wasting each other's time?"

Stan swallowed. He backed away slowly and when he got to the exit, broke into a walk that was only just shy of a run. Lucius smirked as his eyes followed Stan before he lifted his hands up. The other guards un-shackled him. Lucius then carefully lowered himself onto the exam table, face down. "You know, if one of you is willing to do this magically, I could certainly find a way to repay you for it," he said.

"It's not worth my job," one of the two remaining guards said. 

The other guard just shook his head in agreement. "It's just a pin-prick, Malfoy; nothing to it."

Two more people came in, a doctor and a nurse. They did not have lime green robes, nor did they have wands, so Hermione guessed they were Muggles rather than Healers. The doctor was a young man with spiky dark hair and glasses. The nurse was a middle aged, petite woman, but her face and the way she carried herself suggested efficiency and competence. Without a word, they got set up. The doctor pulled over a steel table on wheels and the nurse opened a drawer and got out an instrument tray wrapped in blue paper. She set it on the table in front of the doctor. He gestured at her, putting his fingers palm up to his lips and then dropping his arm down, mouthing _thank you_ at the same time. She nodded. Hermione looked at them curiously.

"You're the one doing the 'healing' then?" Lucius asked, not making the smallest attempt to keep the scorn out of his voice. 

"Don't bother," one of the guards said. "They're both deaf." 

"Of course they are," Lucius said, closing his eyes. 

Having deaf Muggles working in the Azkaban infirmary made perfect sense to Hermione, although she realized that even if they couldn't hear anything, they likely were being Obliviated every once in a while. Hermione moved closer so she could see what the two Muggle healers were doing. As the doctor unwrapped the tray and donned the gloves he found therein, the nurse took out about a half a dozen plastic packages and set them on the counter. She opened the first without touching the inside and dropped its contents onto the tray. It contained a skin stapler. She then opened another four or so suture packages of different kinds and dropped them onto the blue sterile field now lying on the tray. 

It was both fascinating and a little nostalgic. Hermione's mother and father had taught her as a child what each was for, that there were absorbable sutures for deep tissue and nylon for superficial. In fact, the entire horrific scene strangely brought her back to that far more innocent time. All of the needles destined for Lucius' flesh were large; large needles were for big lacerations on the skin of the body; small needles were what her father and mother used almost exclusively, indicated for the face and, in her parents' case, the inside of the mouth. The nurse was getting out vial after vial of lidocaine as well; the doctor in turn was assembling syringes and needles. In perfect tandem, the nurse popped the top off the first vial and flipped it upside down without touching the top so the doctor could draw it up sterilely. 

On the table, Lucius sighed in irritation and opened his eyes. "How long is this going to take?" he said.

The first guard smiled wryly. "Do you have somewhere to be, Malfoy?" he asked.

"Just answering my very simple question is a perfectly viable option," Lucius answered. 

The guard shrugged and moved towards the doctor, who looked up at him. The guard tapped his watch and raised an eyebrow. The doctor paused in what he was doing. He set the syringe down and stood up, holding up his gloved hands. He looked at Lucius' back in a brief assessment and held up two fingers, tilted his hand side-to-side, and then held up three before sitting back down.

"Two to three hours, he says," the guard answered. 

Lucius swore. "You do realize I could heal it near-instantaneously," he said through clenched teeth as the nurse opened a bottle of sterile water and irrigated the wounds, sending diluted blood off the table to drip on the floor. Neither of the guards responded to him. The doctor tapped his needle holder on the drape-covered steel table to get the guards' attention. He gestured at Lucius' back and shrugged exaggeratedly.

"The doctor wants to know how it happened," the guard said.

"I already told you, I slipped in the bathroom," Lucius answered. Hermione raised her eyebrows realizing that he had said it to her because it was the very same lie he had told everyone else, or at the very least it was a statement typical of Lucius, one that probably contained a double meaning. The guard sighed and crossed to a cabinet, where a dry-erase board hung, and wrote _slipped in bathroom._ The doctor rolled his eyes. He took the syringe with needle attached and crossed to Lucius' left. Swiping first with iodine, he stuck the needle into the lower-most incision and depressed the plunger slightly. Lucius breathed in through his teeth and squeezed his eyes tight, but didn't say anything. Slowly, the surrounding skin turned white. As he did this, the nurse moved the rolling steel table over to the other side behind the doctor so he could work. 

The wound was not as deep near the edges, so the doctor started with the nylon, needle holder in one hand, forceps in the other, one stitch and a triple knot, trim the excess, another stitch and another triple knot, trim the excess, over and over. After about 10 stitches, he injected more lidocaine and it dawned on Hermione what she was witnessing was the exact reason that Lucius would have known how to use it on Draco. On that night, Lucius would have cut the Dementor's Diamond out of his son's numbed flesh with a sharp scalpel rather than put him at risk of an anti-magic artifact. That now seemed eons past. By now the doctor was into the deeper part of the laceration. He reached now for the absorbable pack to get ready for the double layer sutures. He had gotten about three stitches into the deep layer of fascia when Stan Shunpike came back with Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic. 

If Scrimgeour was alarmed by Lucius' state, he hid it well, his face with its whiskers and down-turned mouth stern and unflappable as usual. Besides the fact that Scrimgeour was an ex-Auror and had no doubt seen much worse, Stan had likely told him what was going on as well. "I'll be needing the room," Scrimgeour said. He didn't raise his voice, but as it was when Lucius gave a command, Scrimgeour carried sufficient authority and intimidation to be obeyed quickly.

All three guards turned and left without question. After they had gone, Scrimgeour walked over to the table. Lucius turned his head so he could see him. Scrimgeour smiled at him thinly. "You slipped in the bathroom, and then decided to summon me," he said. His voice was a low rumble, rocks rolling down a hill. "I find that unlikely."

Lucius half smiled. "I said I slipped," he answered. "I never said I fell."

Scrimgeour paused for a moment, pondering what Lucius had said. "But the problem remains that your friends are no longer your friends. Had your enemies put you in this state, you would have quietly taken your revenge, evaded blame, and continued doing your time. However, because your only friends in Azkaban did this, you are now willing to capitulate, as you find yourself very dangerously alone. Would I be right?" 

"Perhaps," Lucius said. "I will admit that the idea seems more pragmatic now than it has previously." 

"Who did it?" Scrimgeour asked, his dark eyes flicking over the carnage that now laid waste to Lucius' back.

"If you want me to name names, you had better offer me something in return, considering that the mere act of talking to you puts my life in danger."

Scrimgeour scowled in rebuke. "As opposed to putting your trust in V. and your fellow Death Eaters? Bear in mind, you're the one who called me out here in the middle of the night; I can just as easily leave, although I might be somewhat less eager to come out the next time you want to see me."

Lucius winced as the lidocaine needle went in again. "Fine, you've bravely conquered me: Avery, Dolohov, and Mulciber. Are you quite satisfied?" 

Scrimgeour nodded. "You should also know, Chorley's dead," he said. 

Lucius closed his eyes, but not before Hermione caught a look of immense pain in them. After a moment, he opened them again with a look of frosty ire. _Who is Chorley?_ Hermione wondered. The name was maddeningly familiar, but Hermione just could not place it. He was not a Death Eater, convicted or otherwise. Hermione knew each and every one of their names, particularly the ones that had been caught with Lucius in the Ministry two years prior. 

Lucius turned his attention back to Scrimgeour. "What would you have me do?" he asked.

"Do you mean, what depths would I make you plumb to break free of Azkaban? Beyond the ones to which you've already been brought?"

"Something to that effect," Lucius muttered. It was obvious to Hermione that they were wary of each other, lieutenants historically on opposite sides of a very old fight.

"I want you to be yourself," Scrimgeour said, the thin smile returning to his craggy face.

"Meaning what, exactly?" Lucius asked. 

"Your skills as a Death Eater are prodigious," Scimgeour said, spreading his hands. "Conspiracy, subterfuge, framing, smuggling, torture, murder...always alleged, never proven, but true nonetheless. To be honest, as terrible as your purported acts have been, I always felt disappointed that you were marked for the Dark Lord and not for our side, such is your cunning."

"I'd blush if I had any blood left in my body," Lucius said. 

"There's no need to be dramatic," Scrimgeour replied. "You're still very much alive and I'm prepared to let you out of Azkaban years before your sentence is supposed to have been up, as I've offered in the past."

"In exchange for what? You still haven't told me."

Scrimgeour folded his hands and leaned forward in the stool. "Then I'll get down to it: I would like you to train my Aurors and future Aurors by engaging in similar acts to those I just described, but ones set in place to test the fortitude, intelligence, resourcefulness, and skill of those who seek employ therein. Naturally, we would consult prior to any of this and I'm afraid you would never have free reign again. It should go without saying, but I want to be absolutely clear: you must also report to me about the Dark Lord's plans and methods." 

"Spy on the Dark Lord?"

Scrimgeour raised both of his shaggy eyebrows. "This surprises you? Surely you must have realized I would make you turn your cloak. My conditions have hardly changed in the last two years, and it seems that in your situation, you were prepared to do that anyway." 

"It doesn't surprise me in the slightest, but there is one rather glaring flaw in your devious scheme: he can read minds, including mine. I can lie when the need arises, or when I find it amusing for that matter, but I cannot shield my thoughts against the Dark Lord. He is far too powerful." It was beyond strange to Hermione to hear Lucius admit defeat or weakness; it was a side of him he certainly had kept hidden from her, always. 

"I've already considered that, of course," Scrimgeour said, leaning back as he waved a hand impatiently. "You shall have to learn Occlumency from somebody."

"Severus can do it," Lucius said. 

Scrimgeour barked a laugh. "Don't be absurd. I'm hardly going to let another Death Eater teach you Occlumency, particularly one as close to you as Severus Snape. Also, very few people can know about this. You mustn't even tell your family. Understand this would be for their own protection."

"Who, then?" 

"Your teacher, as it happens, opted to join me here tonight, when he heard about your unfortunate situation, as well as your bid for aid and apparent change of heart."

"You told someone else about this?" Lucius eyes turned towards the door and lit upon somebody there. "Not you," he said upon seeing who it was, his eyes now narrowed, "Anyone but you..." As Hermione turned to look who it was, she heard an ear-splitting squeal, like a wet finger on the rim of a wineglass, but multiplied and reverberating in her ears and her mind. The entire scene shook uncontrollably, edges blurring into insignificance and before she could see who Lucius was talking to, she felt herself falling upwards, faster and faster. Someone suddenly grabbed her upper arm and forced her backwards into reality. 

CHAPTER 48: CAUGHT

The grip on her arm loosened and dropped as her back hit the chair in Lucius' office. Momentarily disoriented, Hermione blinked and wiped her face on her arm before opening her eyes. She found herself face-to-face with a furious Lucius, who leaned against the desk in front of her. Breathing hard, Hermione looked up at him. He wore only drawstring trousers and the moonlight made the serpents on his torso appear dark and menacing against the paleness of his skin. Every muscle was taut, his ribs moved rapidly up and down, and rather than cold contempt, his eyes held a searing hot anger that Hermione had never seen, and she had angered him many times before. This was different; this was terrifying. Lucius held up his thumb, which was smudged black and Hermione realized that the sound she had heard had been him using it to erase the final rune from the edge of the Pensieve, forcing her out of it. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Lucius said, his voice low and hostile. Hermione noticed his other hand was clenched on his wand. Her heart raced. 

"How did you know?" Hermione asked. She looked from his wand to his face.

"Why should I tell you that?" Lucius asked. "You have no right to that information. As a matter of fact, you have no right to any of this information either, and yet you somehow feel entitled to it anyway." He paused for a moment, looked at her, and smiled. "Oh, I understand," he said softly, "You think that because you can't tell anyone else my secrets that by default I would want to divulge them to you. Is that true?"

"No," Hermione answered with some heat. "I thought that after six months of being your mistress, your lover, you'd want the true intimacy of telling me what you can't tell anyone else. My vow should just make it all the easier." 

Lucius slammed his hand down on the desk, making Hermione jump and creating a tremor in the water of the Penseive. "Has it not occurred to you that I have perfectly valid reasons for not wanting to divulge every filthy little secret to you?" He opened his hand towards her now. "The crowning irony is that you say you want intimacy, but you cannot trust me enough to take me at my word and thus can never really have that intimacy, can you? No, what's far more important is to satisfy your insatiable curiosity, nothing more. Therefore, the only conclusion to be drawn is that you feel that because you meet my basest of needs by letting me put my cock in you, you then are owed the gratification of quelling that burning curiosity regardless of how I may feel about it." 

Lucius' voice, which had risen in volume, now dropped low again. "Surely you must see that it's still business," he said, enunciating every word. "Despite what you said about not wanting this to be merely a series of transactions, it is exactly that and you're still using me. And every time..." He smiled once again and shook his head, looking at the dark Pensieve, "every time I think that perhaps we're getting somewhere, that perhaps you actually care for me as I care for you, you pull a stunt like this, thus completely undermining any inkling of trust I may have started feeling for you." 

Sighing, Lucius picked up the empty vial. He then brought his wand tip to his temple and drew out a silvery wisp and dropped it in before sealing the vial once again. He stood and walked around Hermione's other side to where she had placed the drawer, returning the memory to its designated spot. He perused the rest of the Azkaban memories, likely looking to see if any others were missing. Hermione had turned in the chair to watch him. She must have looked surprised because Lucius did a double take after looking back at her.

"What?" he asked, "Why are always so shocked that I can be hurt? That I'm capable of true feeling?" 

Hermione winced at the bitterness in his voice. "In the beginning, Ginny said you were only human," she conceded, looking down at her hands.

"Really? When did she say that?" 

Hermione looked back at him. He stood facing her with his arms crossed and Hermione realized she shouldn't have said anything because he wasn't going to like her answer. "She said it the night I confronted you with the pictures." 

Lucius nodded. "Yes, when you decided it would be a good choice to blackmail me. I remember with absolute clarity how badly you wanted to see the color of my blood." 

"It's pure. I get it," Hermione spat. "And you saw my blood first."

Lucius ran his fingers through his hair. "It's no longer about that and you know it," he said. He turned back to the drawer and started looking through the memories once again. "I daresay you've known it for a while."

"Then what is it about?" 

"I have been more than generous in sharing my Dark Arts knowledge with you, and yet you still possess this sense of entitlement in learning things about me that you have no business knowing, that _no one_ has any business knowing."

"I don't feel entitled to any of it," Hermione said, but she knew it was a lie. 

Lucius turned towards her. "But you must," he said, "otherwise why would you share your body with me, wait until I fell asleep, sneak down here, and violate my mind? That _is_ what you've done, you realize. How long have you been planning this?"

Hermione pressed her lips together and stared at Lucius' feet.

"Answer me," he snapped. Hermione looked up.

"Six months," she answered. "Since the last time I was here, over the summer."

The hurt in Lucius' eyes stung Hermione more than anything he could have said would have. "You lied to me then?"

Hermione nodded. "I omitted certain truths. I wasn't just recuperating from the Portkey or trying to find the exit up there." She looked at the crawlspace that hid in the ceiling above them. "I happened upon a file with Ginny's name on it."

"Happened upon it?" Lucius raised an eyebrow.

Hermione looked at him sharply. "Yes, happened upon it. I wasn't snooping, not then anyway. It was at the bottom of a pile that had fallen over. But once I saw it, I had to open it. How could I not? It said that what had happened when you snatched Ginny from St. Mungo's was an elaborate ruse to test her for suitability as an Auror. You hadn't acted alone in kidnapping and torturing Ginny, but with the knowledge and complicity of the Auror office and the Minister of Magic himself. You can well imagine my shock at uncovering such a conspiracy." She fell silent. 

"Go on," Lucius said.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I put it back where I found it and climbed down into this room. It was pretty dark so the memory showed clearly from where you had put it in a partially open drawer, no doubt only temporary storage. Of course, I was right on time per our arrangement, so I didn't dare investigate further at that point. But, curious as I was, I might have laid both to rest if you had told me the truth, or at least told me a plausible lie about how you got the scars on your back, which I also happened upon that night."

"I see...so this is my fault then?" 

She looked into his eyes, searching for mercy that she knew she wouldn't find. "It's just that I had so many questions, and you wouldn't answer even the innocuous ones."

Lucius folded his arms once again. "Spare me. None of your questions are ever innocuous."

"But I still had so many of them that went unanswered, including what happened in Azkaban and whether or not you truly were still allied with You-Know-Who. I know you think no one has any business knowing it, but I couldn't help but feel like I'm missing out on something key, something that would change everything I've ever believed about you. I feel that if I knew it, I could indeed trust you unreservedly, which is what I want, what both of us wants." 

Lucius sneered. "You just used the word 'I' an appalling number of times. And in your self-righteous little mind, me not telling you how I got the scars, or other details about my time in Azkaban gave you the right to go into one of my memories without my knowledge or consent."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said quickly.

"Oh, I doubt that," Lucius said, dropping his hands to his sides. "My feeling is that you're sorry I caught you." To Hermione's surprise, he started pulling out the memories from the Azkaban drawer one at a time and tossed them onto the desk next to the Penseive. They rolled and clinked softly into one another, each creating its own eerie light that reflected in the metal bowl. 

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, her heart pounding.

Lucius stopped for a moment to look at her. "Why, I'm about to give you everything your heart desires," he said, eyebrows raised. "I serve your pleasure, as always. You desire access to my memories, no matter what the cost, so here's your chance, the keys to the kingdom, if you will."

"I don't want--"

"Quiet," he snapped. Hermione shut her mouth. "Don't lie to me again tonight, Hermione. You've already seen entirely too much, so much in fact, that if you were anyone else with the exception of my family, I would have a difficult time not killing you." 

"You'd kill me over a memory rather than trust me enough to tell me yourself?" Hermione's eyes prickled. In all the time that had passed since their first night together, nothing had really changed. He'd still kill her as easily as glancing sideways at her, were the Vow not preventing him. _I shouldn't even be surprised,_ she thought, _people don't ever really change._

When Lucius spoke again, his voice softened slightly. "But let me tell you why. First of all, were I to be forced into that unfortunate position, I would do it humanely and quickly because whatever else you might believe about me, I do care about you, more than you can imagine."

"Oh, that's comforting," Hermione said.

Lucius glared at her and continued. "Second of all, you may have a difficult time believing this either, but I wouldn't kill you out of anger, or because it's something I happen to excel at, but for a greater purpose that transcends any feelings I might have about you. Third, and most importantly, as I've said, you have done almost nothing to prove that you're trustworthy, and in fact, have committed several acts to prove that I absolutely should _not_ trust you. You say you want to be closer to me, but your frequent and ruthless betrayals negate that statement. But incredibly, none of that actually matters: your naïve and self-absorbed mind has once again failed to see the bigger picture, in which our relationship is mere subtext. My being a bad boyfriend has almost nothing to do with it."

"You're not my--" Hermione started automatically, but then cut off with one look at Lucius' face. Her abdomen twisted uncomfortably, as it always did when Lucius was right. 

One memory remained in the drawer, and it was the red one marked _Strikethrough._ Lucius took it slowly in his hand and looked at it, as if trying to decide, and then turned and tossed it on the desk with the rest of the memories, where it's red color seemed to leech into the rest of the memories it now lay atop.

"Meaning?" Hermione asked, re-directing. 

Lucius put the now-empty drawer to one side and turned to face her completely. "You've now seen the memory in which I reveal that yes, my allegiance has indeed changed, which means it's in your mind as well as mine and the Minister's. Knowing that, what do you imagine would happen if you met the Dark Lord and he were to question you about it, about me?" Before Hermione could answer, Lucius spoke again: "Actually, it will be far more efficient just to show you." He pointed his wand at her. " _Legilimens_."

Without warning, the memory blasted back into Hermione's mind: the bright light, the deaf doctor and nurse, the deep lacerations, the blood, the different sutures, Lucius ordering Stan to get Scrimgeour, the entire conversation that followed, including Lucius agreeing to spy for the Ministry and turn traitor. It was forced upon her, but sped up, just hitting the gruesome highlights. Hermione put her hands up to the sides of her head. "Stop!" she cried out. "Please stop." 

Lucius dropped his wand, his face showing no remorse. "Are you starting to understand why I kept it from you? Are you getting a sense of the enormity of the problem? Even Narcissa is completely in the dark about this, for her own good of course, and she's actually quite adept at Occlumency. It shall be even easier for the Dark Lord to tear that memory from you than it was for me just now. Therefore, you're now more of a threat to me, not to mention my family, than you've ever been, and with your history, that's saying a great deal. Moreover, you're a threat to yourself and to anyone else who hopes to defeat the Dark Lord." 

Lucius came back around and turned the office chair so Hermione now faced the desk, the memories, and the Pensieve once again. He stood at Hermione's elbow, waiting. "Now you know the most dangerous truth about me, so I can't fathom how it would cause any more damage if you learn the entire story." He gestured to the glowing pile of vials. "This is everything you wanted, and now it's at your fingertips, although I suspect you'll regret your curiosity and lack of willpower when all is said and done." He took the hand that did not hold his wand and ran it over the back of her neck and around her shoulder. He slid his fingers over her collarbones before opening his hand and placing it on her throat. Hermione shivered. "This is what true intimacy with me looks and feels like," he said. "I hope it's to your liking. Now, mend your Pensieve," he ordered, dropping his hand. 

Hermione shook her head. "I can't," she said quietly. 

"And yet you will. It's quite the paradox, I know," Lucius said, before once again pointing his wand at her. "I'll Imperius Curse you if I have to, but that would reveal an intolerable spinelessness on your part, and you a Gryffindor." 

Tears slipped down Hermione's face. 

"Fine," Lucius said impatiently, "together, then." He put his wand down, grabbed the marker and forced it into Hermione's hand. He leaned over her, his hair trailing over her bare arm. He then closed his hand around hers firmly and together they drew the rune the Lucius had erased. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it, my inquisitive lover?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Now, are you capable of casting the spell, or is your conscience causing you too much pain?" he asked, his voice icy. Hermione couldn't say anything. She knew she had gone way too far with him this time, quite possibly beyond the point of any reconciliation and the only course open to her was to ride it out and trust that everything would come out all right. Lucius dropped her hand and picked up his wand. He said the three incants and the Pensieve once again swirled to life. 

Lucius then dropped his wand on the desk with a clatter and picked up the memories. He broke them open one at a time initially and poured them in. After doing a few this way, he got impatient and took them three at time and broke off the tops using the side of the desk. Before too long, the top of the desk was strewn with broken glass and torn labels. He saved the red one for last. The surface of the Pensieve was now roiling. He broke the seal on the red one and slowly tipped it in. The surface of the Pensieve changed from blue to crimson. The new color lit Lucius' face with its angry red glow. 

"Time to go," Lucius said. "You've made your bed."

Shaking, Hermione moved the chair closer to the Pensieve and lowered her face down. 

"I'll be waiting for you when you're finished," was the last thing Hermione heard before she tumbled headlong into the swirling waters.


	18. 49: Bargaining; 50: Cellmate; 51: Amity; 52: Commission; 53: Vanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrimgeour offers Lucius a plea bargain, which he refuses. Lucius appeals to Narcissa to remove Draco from a dangerous situation, which she refuses. Lucius meets his cell-mate, who proves to be the last person on the planet Lucius had planned on sharing his incarceration with. Lucius finds his reception by his fellow Death Eaters in Azkaban unexpectedly cool. Voldemort assigns Lucius a task, one that makes Lucius wary of Voldemort's true motivations. While preparing to carry out this assignment, Lucius tells his cell-mate a story about Hogwarts regarding the first time someone tried to make Lucius a better person.
> 
>  
> 
> _Voldemort's laughter echoed around the cell, chilling Hermione. "You are lying, Lucius. While your lack of compunction has been useful to me in the past, your arrogance has made you reckless, not once, but time and time again, which is why you are here in Azkaban. Your imprisonment has made you far less useful, and you know what I do to wizards who have no use, don't you Lucius?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Yes," Lucius said so quietly that Hermione could barely hear him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Herbert Chorley is not actually an OC. What to say today? It was a long night, followed by a long and weird day. The chapter, the chapter...I give Lucius a bit of exposition and there is a fair bit of dialogue in this chapter, but what else are you going to do in a Dementor-less Azkaban? Also, Chorley's magic spell is one I happen to possess as well. Mua-ha-ha-ha...The song is in question is the most annoying one I could bring to mind Here you go if you want to empathize: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nf670orHKcA
> 
> Don't do it tho...

CHAPTER 49: BARGAINING

The journey down this time was similar, but more violent, now that the Pensieve was overloaded with memories. Hermione wasn't even sure if one was supposed to put more than a single memory at a time into a Pensieve or what would happen if one did. She supposed she would find out soon enough. Flashes of light and color passed by her, as if the Pensieve wasn't sure which memory she was supposed to be in. Hermione caught strains of music, snatches of conversation, screams. Once again, she was buffeted by smoke and dark water. 

She landed on a stone floor once again, now in daytime. It wasn't Azkaban, as the stones were the familiar, smooth black fading to white that informed Hermione she was in the Ministry of Magic. It was a holding cell, so she suspected she was in the earliest Azkaban-related memory, one probably just prior to Lucius' incarceration. Lucius sat at a metal table, hands folded in front of him and head down, waiting. The only light in the room came from directly above; it made his hair luminous, but threw his face into shadow. His wand had already been taken from him. He didn't move; only the tension in his shoulders revealed any strain.

The door opened and Rufus Scrimgeour walked in. He pulled out the chair opposite Lucius and sat down. Lucius looked up at him, face inscrutable. They stared each other down for a moment. Scrimgeour spoke first. "Well, this is your last chance," he said.

"For what, exactly?" Lucius asked. 

"To yield, of course. Or, put another way, to save yourself and renounce the Dark Lord."

Lucius smirked. "And in exchange, you would...what? Open the door and let me walk free? I have a difficult time believing that."

Scrimgeour looked away. "I can't let you out of your Azkaban sentence," he said quietly.

Lucius rubbed one eyebrow with the back of his thumbnail, not letting his smirk waver. "Well then, what good are you? Frightfully little to none, it would seem. When you first stepped into the role, I thought you would make a stronger, more capable Minister of Magic than Cornelius Fudge, but it appears I was mistaken." He shook his head in apparent regret. "How disappointing. Also, you'll forgive me if I don't entirely trust you; my conviction is based on circumstantial evidence at best. I'm to serve five years in Azkaban for what crime precisely? For breaking and entering? I do work at the Ministry, you realize." 

Lucius reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his Ministry-issued identification card. Hermione moved closer to the table to see it properly, as she had never seen Lucius actually wearing it, and was mildly surprised he even had one. When Hermione got a good look, she almost burst out laughing. It had Lucius' picture on it, his department, his title, but in the place where Lucius' name would be, it said, _You Know Who I Am_. Hermione didn't know if he had bribed someone to make him the name tag, or had enchanted it to read that, but neither would have surprised her. Its absolute audacity and unapologetic conceit made Hermione feel a surge of affection for Lucius. Shaking her head, Hermione stepped back to the wall once again.

Scrimgeour was not amused. "You stole a prophecy," he pointed out, confiscating Lucius' identification card and placing it in his own pocket.

Lucius sat back in his chair, looking almost dramatically offended by this last statement, but Hermione had known him long enough to understand he was only playing with Scrimgeour. "I did no such thing. Potter stole the prophecy and then gave it to me willingly when I politely asked him for it."

"'Politely asked?' You threatened Potter and his friends with death. Also, you were taking the prophecy for the Dark Lord."

Lucius raised an eyebrow in response. "You really think so, do you? For all you know, I was taking it from Potter to put it back where it belonged, pillar of the magical community that I am. In fact, I can't help but think that I'm being made a scapegoat, not just by you, but by all of those blood traitors, Mudbloods, and Muggle-lovers that have had it in for me and my family since time immemorial." 

Now it was Scrimgeour's turn to look offended, but Hermione suspected in his case it was not feigned. "Oh, come off of it, Malfoy. Everyone knows you're a Death Eater. Three Aurors caught you aiding the Dark Lord and attempting to steal a prophecy, not to mention mounting an attack on those same Aurors as well as several Hogwarts students--"

"Who attacked first," Lucius pointed out, leaning forward and tapping the table with his index finger. He sneered disdainfully. "'Everyone knows you're a Death Eater... ' I hope you realize how foolish you sound when you say that." He paused for a moment before sitting back slowly, something like understanding settling in his eyes. "Or perhaps it's not foolish at all. If, as you say, everyone knows I'm a Death Eater, and you subsequently send me to Azkaban, it builds your reputation quite effectively, doesn't it? As much as I don't particularly enjoy being used, perhaps I misjudged you."

Scrimgeour's eyes flicked to the side and Hermione knew that Lucius had hit the nail on the head. In the end, however, Scrimgeour ignored him and continued. "Also, Potter saw you assist the Dark Lord to become corporeal at the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year."

Lucius tilted his head to the side. "Do you mean unstable, delusional, attention-seeking Harry Potter? He detests my son, but surely that would give him no reason to turn against me, isn't that right? Sweet Merlin, you're really reaching, aren't you?" 

Scrimgeour set his jaw. "You were caught in the Ministry, with the Dark Lord and other Death Eaters."

"Guilt by association? Your case is air tight it would seem." 

"The Wizengamot has already passed the sentence." It may have been her imagination, but Hermione thought she caught the merest hint of regret in Scrimgeour's voice as he said it and his eyes had gone to the table in front of him.

"You mean Dumbledore has already passed the sentence," Lucius said. "That incompetent Muggle-lover has despised me from the first and I don't mind admitting that the feeling has been mutual."

Scrimgeour turned his gaze back to Lucius. "All I'm saying is that I can have your sentence reduced dramatically if you renounce the Dark Lord and give us some more information regarding the whereabouts and plans of your fellows." 

Lucius leaned towards him, hands flat on the table. "Burn in Hades," he said, biting off each word. He leaned back once again and folded his hands in front of him, face shaded once more. 

Scrimgeour gave him one final, wistful look before getting up and striding towards the door. 

"And send in my wife," Lucius called after him. The scene clouded over, swirled and then re-formed, what looked like moments or hours later; Hermione wasn't sure, same steel table, same posture, perhaps a slightly different angle to the light in the room. The door opened and Narcissa Malfoy walked in. 

Every time Hermione saw Lucius' wife, she wanted to stand up just a little straighter. Narcissa had flawless posture and between that and her imperious demeanor, it made her someone that people just did not think to cross. On that particular day, she wore a green coat and her hair was arranged in a neat updo. Lucius stood as she came in and walked around the table. Narcissa met him there and with them standing next to each other, Hermione noticed that he was only about an inch taller than her, making it impossible for him to stare her down. Narcissa looked at Lucius icily. "Narcissa, I--"

She cut him off by hitting him hard in the face, open palm, loud in the tiled room. Hermione winced at the sound. Lucius recovered quickly and glared at her. "Do you feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "How could you be so dim-witted, Lucius?"

"Bear in mind, I did all I did on the Dark Lord's orders," he said. "Including getting caught."

Narcissa gave him a look of disgust. "Then maybe the time has come for you to get off of his broom," she said. "You're barely hanging on to the tail twigs with your fingernails, anyway, the way it looks now." She folded her arms. "You've been nothing but loyal to him, you've tortured and murdered in his name, you've even bankrolled the majority of his operation, and look where it's landed you."

"Can you repeat that, but louder?" Lucius hissed. "I'm not completely certain the entire Ministry heard you."

"Are you in earnest right now?" Narcissa shot back; if anything, she had increased the volume of her voice. "You're already sentenced, for all the good it's done to you or the Dark Lord."

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her. "He'll reward me."

Narcissa smirked. "You sound petulant right now; you know that, don't you?" Lucius didn't answer her. "And you sound hopelessly naïve...and desperate. He's not going to reward you. He's going to punish you for losing the prophecy, mark my words. That's the true reason you're going to Azkaban. He could have let you get away unscathed, and quite easily. After all, that's why he gathered you in the first place, is it not? Because you have a gift for sliding out of trouble? Well, not this time. Doesn't that seem strange to you? It seems quite clear to me, and yet you seem to be missing it: the implication, really, is that you've outlived your usefulness to him." 

"What would you have me do, Narcissa?" Lucius' voice was low and intense and for the first time, Hermione saw fear in his eyes. 

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "Do what Scrimgeour has asked of you, obviously." 

"That's not going to keep me out of Azkaban; he said so himself." Lucius spoke more calmly now. "Also, it would make my sentence far more dangerous. The Dementors are gone, and while I'm thrilled with that fact, it does make for a more hazardous Azkaban as well. No Dementors means that people are going to be more stirred to action, particularly against enemies, of which I have many. While I show loyalty to the Dark Lord, at least I can stay close to my allies while incarcerated. If I turn against him now, I'll have no one left on the inside."

Narcissa eyes gleamed in triumph. "So you admit that you're starting to think of turning against him?" 

Lucius looked away. "I never suggested that." 

"He's not here, you know," Narcissa said. "He's out there, and you're in here, taking your punishment like a good little foot soldier."

Lucius looked back at her and something had shifted in his expression; the fear was back and was now magnified. When he spoke again, his voice was pressured. "Yes, I'll be safe from him in Azkaban, but you and Draco won't be. If you are right, and the Dark Lord seeks to punish me, he's going to do it through the two of you. Therefore, you need to remove Draco from the situation immediately."

Narcissa went pale. "How dare you?" she said in a strangled whisper.

Lucius took her by both arms and looked into her eyes. "Narcissa, for the love of Merlin, I am begging you to hear me right now. Draco needs to be transferred to Durmstrang for the remainder of his education, and without delay."

Narcissa struggled against him, tears now slipping down her face. "No," she said. "No." Her gaze turned steely suddenly. "You'd like that wouldn't you? Going to that school, steeped in Dark Arts...it's what you've always wanted, admit it." 

"You know that's not what this is about. It's for his own protection, surely you must see that. Keeping him in Hogwarts, in Malfoy Manor, even in England will put him and you both in danger." Hermione had never heard him so agitated, so frustrated. 

"No!" Narcissa broke free from him. "You're wrong," she said, her voice now low as well. 

Lucius said coldly, "You can't have it both ways, Narcissa. If you keep Draco with you, you prove that my trust in the Dark Lord, my loyalty to him, is warranted and that I've been right this entire time and by extension, you trust him as well. If you believe that my trust and loyalty is misguided and I'm wrong, you must send Draco away. Doing anything else would be selfish."

"You are the last person in the world who should call anyone selfish." Narcissa's voice burned with hatred. "It's because of you he's even in danger, because of your pride, your arrogance...When you made the decision to join the Dark Lord, you cursed us all."

"In my defense, all that predates us," Lucius said quietly. "And it's not as if I can simply put in my notice, you know..."

"As if that makes everything all right. I hope Azkaban ends you," Narcissa turned on her heel and strode to the door, knocked three times, and before Lucius could say another word, she was out of the cell, and his life, until his release. 

The last thing Hermione saw was Lucius slamming his fist into the steel table before the scene shifted again, in another swirl of smoke and dark water. 

CHAPTER 50: CELLMATE

When the scene coalesced, it was obvious that they were now within Azkaban's rough stone walls. Lucius wore the black and gray striped Azkaban prisoner's uniform, but aside from his lack of a wand, nothing else about him had changed; he still carried his head high and his shoulders back, haughty as ever. Wrists shackled, he followed Stan Shunpike through grimy corridors, past dimly lit cells. Two guards followed behind them. Stan was talking as they walked, no doubt explaining rules. "Supper is at six in the Main Hall. Not that you would know, seein' as you don't have no watch, you'll just be followin' everyone else." He chuckled. "No talkin' in the corridor. No touchin' anybody. No fightin,' no bitin'." He chuckled again and Hermione suspected he had given this speech enough to make up his own variations on it. Lucius said nothing; speaking back to Stan was clearly beneath him.

They stopped in front of one of the cells, this one lit with one yellow sodium light that shone around the sparse room with a sickly glow and buzzed like a drunk Billywig. "Well, this'll be you then, Malfoy. Oy, Chorley, get up," Stan called to the figure curled up on the left-hand bunk. "Wake up, you crazy Muggle and meet your new cellmate." Hermione saw Lucius' eyes narrow.

"Did you just say Muggle?" Lucius asked. _Uh oh_ , Hermione thought. 

Chorley sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes, child-like. He was maybe in his late 20s, with huge brown eyes ringed with long eyelashes and sandy, short-cropped hair. Hermione still didn't recognize him. Chorley looked from Stan to Lucius curiously. 

Stan turned to Lucius and grinned. "Thas' right. Good ol'Chorley here has the honor of being the only Muggle in Azkaban prison." 

Lucius sighed in irritation before glaring at Stan. "I refuse to share a cell with a Muggle," he said icily. 

Stan looked crestfallen. "But we selected him particular for you, Malfoy. We know how much you like Muggles and he, well, he's special, bein' the only one." Stan brightened. "Actually, you know what? Come to think of it, he ain't the only Muggle in here. We got a place just full of 'em, is the truth."

"Meaning?"

Stan's voice dropped. "You're not a wizard in here, Malfoy, no more'n Chorley is. Didn't anyone tell you that? Blood status don't mean nothin' in here. And you ain't got a wand no more, and even if you did, you can't cast magic in these walls, so you know what that makes you? A plain, non-magic Muggle." Hermione felt her eyes widen in shock; it was the most fool-hardy thing Stan could have said to Lucius in that moment. Stan smirked and turned from Lucius to unlock the cell. The instant his back was turned, Lucius was on him. He put his arms over Stan's head, and then pulled quickly back, using the shackles to choke him from behind. 

Before the other two guards could get at him, Lucius backed up to the wall, taking Stan with him and using him as a human shield, all while pulling back hard. Lucius had at least two inches, at least 20 years, and at least 30 pounds on Stan, giving him several vicious advantages. Stan's face was turning red and he struggled for breath, pulling ineffectually at the shackles now around his throat. "No wand," Lucius said softly in Stan's ear. "And yet I can still strike without warning. I want you to remember how easy this was for me, next time you think to treat me with anything less than the respect I deserve." 

"Respect this," the larger of the guards growled, coming in from the side with what looked to Hermione like a Beater's bat and striking Lucius in the ribcage. Hermione heard a crack as it made contact, and Lucius went down to that same side, taking Stan with him. As soon as he was on the floor, both guards went after him. Lucius released Stan, who got up, coughing and wheezing stridorously. Lucius had curled in a ball, using his hands to protect his head as bats, fists and feet rose and fell. 

After a few seconds, Hermione heard an ear-splitting whistle. It had come from Chorley. The guards stopped and turned. "He's done now," Chorley said calmly. "You can stop."

Stan turned from where he had been kicking Lucius, and walked over to the bars of the cell. "Do you even know who this is?" he asked Chorley, pointing at Lucius. 

"Some wizard?" Chorley asked. "This is a wizard prison, after all, and as you said, I'm the only Muggle. Don't worry; we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted."

One of the guards knelt down and undid the shackles on Lucius' wrists, where he lay on his side, attempting to recover, breathing shallowly. He and the other guard picked Lucius up from underneath the arms and, after Stan had opened the door, tossed him unceremoniously into the cell with Chorley. 

Stan looked at Lucius, now lying prone on the floor of the cell, and then back at Chorley. "Some wizard, eh? This one's killed Muggles like you, just for a laugh."

"Muggles kill Muggles for a laugh as well, you know," Chorley countered.

"Yeah? Well, this wizard happens to be a pureblood supremacist. You like big words, Chorley, do you know those ones? What that means is that he thinks Muggles, and wizards born of Muggles are scum, every one of 'em, not worthy to lick his boots. Sorry to say, that includes you, Chorley." Stan kicked Lucius once more for good measure, before slamming the bars of the cell shut. Lucius rolled over on one side and coughed. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and it came back bloody. Stan watched him, disgusted. "And, as you can see, his blood looks just like yours or mine. I just didn't think we'd see it this quick." 

"He's frightened of Muggles? That's strange," Chorley said. His voice was mild. He stood from the bed, skirted Lucius carefully and leaned his forehead against the bars, looking at Stan. "If anything, he should fear wizards, as they're the ones who put him in here in the first place."

"Make no mistake, he put hisself here," Stan said.

"And he's a wizard, as I said. They're the ones who put me here in the first place as well, come to think of it. But I still don't hate them."

Stan smiled. "Well, aren't you just a saint? And Lucius Malfoy, frightened of Muggles? Not bloody likely."

Chorley smiled back. "Of course he is. But that's neither here nor there. The bigger question is why?"

"Why don't you ask him? Do it while you're 'getting acquainted.' Maybe you'll even change his mind, but that's not bloody likely either." Stan shot one more dirty look at Lucius before turning and walking briskly down the hall, the other two guards behind him.

"Perhaps I will," Chorley said to no one in particular.

The three guards disappeared down the corridor from which they had come. Eventually the sound of their footfalls faded away. When the sound disappated into nothing, Chorley took his forehead off of the bars and came back over to Lucius. He knelt beside him. "Are you all right?" he asked. He put one hand on Lucius' shoulder. 

Lucius swatted it away, wincing at the movement. "Keep your filthy Muggle hands off of me," he snarled.

Chorley sighed and retreated back to his bunk. He sat on it and drew one knee up to his chest, looking at Lucius with disappointment. Lucius wrapped his left hand around his abdomen to brace the right side of his ribs, a few of which were almost definitely cracked and leaned up on his right. With great care, he lifted himself up onto the other bunk and sat, leaning over, hand still tensed on his injured ribs.

"I'm Herbert Chorley," Chorley said, waving from his bunk. "I'm waving because you don't want me to touch you, but I still am going to introduce myself to you because we're going to be cell mates for the foreseeable future."

Lucius ignored him and slowly breathed in and out, splinting his side still with his hand. 

Chorley continued. "And you're Lucius Malfoy, if Shunpike got your name right. He's not the brightest bulb in the bin." He froze and looked at Lucius, eyebrows raised. "Like light bulb," he said quickly, as if he was concerned that Lucius would lose the thread of the conversation if he didn't explain: "It's what Muggles use to light their houses and streets. Like that one up there." Chorley pointed at the anemic yellow light. His voice retained its mild tone. "I say foreseeable future, even though strictly speaking, that's not true. You probably have a sentence, with a beginning--that would be today, and what a beginning you've made--a middle, and an end." 

Chorley put his foot back down on the floor and leaned his elbows on his knees, roughly mimicking Lucius' posture. "I don't actually have a sentence. I mean, I had a beginning, I suppose I'm in the middle somewhere, but there is no end. I might die in here, really. Then again, so might you, especially if you think attacking guards is a good idea." 

Lucius lay down, facing away from Chorley.

Chorley spoke once more. "I can see you're not in the mood for talking. And you're right, you should probably rest. We'll talk more later. And by we, I mean me, until you decide you want to talk. Which is fine. I mean, either way. Anyway, welcome to Azkaban." Hermione smiled. Of all the people for Lucius to get stuck sharing a cell with, she could not think of anyone better. She liked Chorley, if for no other reason than his constant, unrelentingly idealistic chatter must have driven Lucius around the bend. It was too bad that he was dead now. Hermione's smile faded as she realized that eventuality.

CHAPTER 51: AMITY

The scene faded and then re-formed again. It came up on what must have been the Main Hall. Lucius carried a tray through crowded tables. Hermione surmised that it was likely his first time in there. As he walked through, silence descended. By now, Lucius had regained his same proud, detached demeanor, as if he was just perambulating in the Malfoy formal gardens. A few weeks must have passed since the last scene, as now he seemed to be moving without pain and all signs of other trauma were gone. He saw a table of Death Eaters and made his way over. 

They cleared a spot. As Lucius sat down, voices in the room came back, mostly whispered comments behind hands, a few nervous titters. Lucius sat between Rodolphus Lestrange and Walden McNair, and across from Crabbe Sr. Crabbe greeted him first. "I heard they roomed you with a Muggle," he said, grinning.

Lucius glared at him. "Yes, that they did," he said. 

McNair spoke up. "What's a Muggle doing in Azkaban?" 

Lucius sniffed. "I neither know, nor do I care," he answered. "I may kill him, however, just to shut him up. He sees it as his purpose to fill any silence, regardless of how brief." 

His seatmates chuckled, all except Barty Crouch Jr. Hermione hadn't noticed him initially, seated down at the end, but his look at Lucius was decidedly unfriendly. Lucius seemed to sense this and turned his attention to him. "Crouch," he said. "I barely noticed you sitting there. I thought you had been kissed by Dementors."

Crouch smiled grimly. "A lie told by Fudge to fuel the denial that the Dark Lord had returned. He was going to do it though, had it all planned, and then the Dementors cleared out, and here I sit, soul still intact." Crouch tipped his head in Lucius' direction. "But you'd know all about lying, wouldn't you Malfoy? You did it long enough to keep yourself out of Azkaban for many a year. Not terribly loyal of you, was it?" 

Lucius returned his smile. "At least it kept me useful to the Dark Lord." 

"Not the way I heard it. Losing the prophecy wasn't all that useful, was it?" The rest of the table had seemingly froze, watching Lucius and Crouch. 

Lucius shrugged. "I'll be out eventually, at which point I'll continue to be of use, I would imagine. Can you say the same?"

Hermione could see the tension building in Crouch's thin shoulders. "I did more than you could ever dream of," he said.

Lucius inclined his head. "That was yesterday. What have you done today? What do you plan to do tomorrow?"

"Whatever the Dark Lord commands," he said. "I don't try to save myself above all others. I think you'll find even you can't be that selfish in here, Malfoy. This is a small prison." 

Lucius' eyes flicked to his fellow Death Eaters, no doubt noticing that not a one of them had come to his defense. "It is indeed." 

McNair cleared his throat and tried a weak smile. "Yep, small prison, so we all need to band together, otherwise none of us will be able to serve him, whether in or out. Pax, gentlemen?" He looked from Lucius to Crouch. 

Lucius smiled coldly. "I could always use more friends," he said, extending a hand across the table. "I'd even be willing to let the ferret incident slide, so great is my amity." Crouch hesitated and then finally took it. He let go after a moment, glared at Lucius once more, and then went back to his food. 

The scene faded again. Once again, it went back to Lucius and Chorley in their cell, each on his respective bunk. It must have been night as the light was off in their cell; the only illumination now from the lights in the corridor. 

"I'll bet you're wondering what a Muggle is doing in Azkaban," Chorley volunteered. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his hands folded over his chest. Lucius said nothing. He too lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

"I was a Junior Minister in the government before this, Junior Minister of Human and Civil Rights. So I've worked with a lot of prejudiced people, which is why I'm all right with being your cell mate even though you hate me. I'd just as soon you didn't hate me, but at least I get where it's coming from. I mean, sort of." Chorley sighed. "In any event, there are these people called Death Eaters, I guess they're sort of like terrorists in the wizard world...have you heard of them?" He looked over at Lucius, lying on his own bunk.

Lucius said nothing. After a moment, Chorley gave up and turned his head back so he was looking at the ceiling once more. 

"Anyway, they--the Death Eaters--broke into the Prime Minister's office building, trying to find him, I guess. They found me instead and...I don't know exactly what happened. Wands were out, and it was very confusing, but they kept saying 'Imperio.' Whatever the spell was, when it hit me I thought I was some sort of wild animal. It's hard to explain. I was in a corner, backed up, lashing out, frightened, completely convinced that I was this animal. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital--and not a normal hospital mind you, a wizard hospital--still confused, still scared, still thinking I was an animal, so I did what cornered animals do: I attacked everything and everyone until I got sedated. This went on for days, and then weeks. They tried various things, but nothing seemed to be working, and I had become a danger to myself and everyone else around me. 

"They must have been at their wits' end, because I ended up here. I'm not sure a Muggle has ever been in Azkaban, but that seemed to cure it, being in this place with its anti-magic magic, if that makes sense. That broke the enchantments and I no longer felt like a wild animal. But I also have all the memories of everything that happened, which is why they can't release me. I know too much to be let out at this point, which is why I think I might die in here. I imagine they've already convinced my family that I'm dead. I know that there's some sort of spell that can erase memories, they explained that to me at the wizard hospital, or at least they tried to, but they said they didn't want to try it on me because the risk was too high of something even worse happening, like it did when the Death Eaters cast their spell. So here I am, all thanks to wizards, a group of people that, up until six months ago, I had no idea even existed and certainly have done nothing to harm, at least not in any capacity I'm aware of."

Lucius maintained his silence, but Hermione could tell he was listening to Chorley's story, likely wondering which of his cohorts had cast the botched Imperius Curse that had led to Chorley's psychotic break. 

Hermione was then subjected to a montage of work detail, Lucius manually pumping the sea water out of the bottom of the tower that housed the prison. That had made his hands rip, so another memory surfaced of him cleaning the rips carefully in the sink and then using strips of fabric torn from his prison uniform to bind them. Chorley watched him do it from the other bunk, but for once, he said nothing. Lucius continued to ignore him. The scene changed to Lucius breaking up rocks with a sledgehammer and now his hands bore calluses instead of rips. The most remarkable thing to Hermione about witnessing this was Lucius' attitude, neither resentful, nor hopeless, but accepting and even seeming to embrace how the work made him stronger. Time was passing, but Hermione was unsure how much. Now she saw little bits and snatches of Crouch in the back of each work detail, in the hallway, in the bathrooms, always furtive and with an air of malevolence about him. 

Another night in the cell descended upon Hermione, now with both Lucius and Chorley in opposite bunks again. Another one-sided conversation was in process. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings when I said that you were frightened of Muggles," Chorley was saying. Hermione could see Lucius' jaw tighten. Once again, even if he wasn't talking, he was listening. Chorley continued. "It's just that all prejudice is born out of fear, which is why I thought a Muggle was a curious thing for a wizard to be afraid of." 

Chorley rolled up on his side and propped his head on his hand, now looking at Lucius. "And why it got me to wondering where it was coming from. I don't know a lot about wizards or magic, but what happened to me was enough to convince me that the powers you people possess are...something special. So, I was thinking, why fear Muggles when you have the power of life and death in your hands? I'm not saying I would be happier with a gift like that, but I don't think a day would go by where I wouldn't thank everything holy that I had been blessed in that way. I'd certainly hope never to take it for granted, is all I'm saying." 

Hermione was gratified to see Lucius look away from the ceiling, as if ashamed. His power had been taken away and it was likely he had done just that, taken it for granted, for years. In fact, it was what fueled his entitlement, and thus, the core of his personality. And now it was gone. 

"Anyway," Chorley said, the corners of his mouth twitching, "I'm not completely a Muggle, despite what Shunpike might have said." Lucius turned his head and for once, looked directly at Chorley, incredulity and indigation clear on his features. Chorley's guileless face broke out in a smile. "No, it's true. I have one spell and it's as stupid as it is powerful. I'm going to do it to you because I doubt you can ignore me forever, so even if this irks you so much it incites you to violence, at least you will have acknowledged my existence, and taken a first step towards equality, and facing down your own prejudices. Trust me, you'll be a happier man for it." Chorley sat up. He took a deep breath. _"I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts/Here they are all standing in the road/Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head/Give 'em a twist, a flick of the wrist/That's what the showman said..."_

Chorley sang it just loud enough to be annoying, but not so loud as to bring the attention of the guards, and in a terrible Cockney accent that was, to Hermione, like a cheese grater on the eardrums. Chorley made it through the first verse, and the chorus, and then back to the top. At that point, he broke off. "This is the spell I cast to get a song stuck in someone's head. As I said, stupid, but powerful." He started singing again, back from the top. Lucius, for his part, stared resolutely at the ceiling. It wasn't magic, more like psychological warfare, but Hermione grinned; she knew Lucius would break, it was just a matter of time and once he did, as Chorley had said, Lucius would be forced to acknowledge that he existed. 

During the third round of the song, Hermione watched the movement of Lucius' ribs increase slowly and his jaw tighten. She had seen his self-control break at other times and knew the signs. It wouldn't be long now. Chorley too was now lying on his back, singing the song to the ceiling, and conducting himself enthusiastically with one hand. He got through a fourth round, followed by a fifth. On the sixth round, Lucius finally snapped. " _...There stands me wife, the idol of me life/Singing roll up bowl or ball a penny a pitch..._ " Lucius got off the bunk, walked up to where Chorley lay, and punched him across the face. 

Chorley's head snapped to the side, but he did nothing to defend himself. He knew it was coming; Lucius had made no effort to hide what he was going to do, and to his credit, Chorley didn't even flinch. "Shut...up," Lucius said, leaning over him. Chorley massaged his jaw. His lip had split and blood ran down his chin. He sat up on the bunk. 

He held out his hand. "Herbert Chorley," he said, "Junior Minister of Human and Civil Rights. Pleased to meet you." 

Lucius looked at the offered hand, tensed once more as if he would hit Chorley again, before he relaxed, sighed in disgust, and then turned and went back to his bunk. He lay down and rolled away from Chorley. Chorley smiled and lay back down on his own bunk. 

Another day in the Main Hall. Lucius sat across from Dolohov. "So, I guess you haven't killed that Muggle yet," Dolohov said. 

Lucius frowned at him. "I'm still having difficulty seeing the point," he said. 

Dolohov put down his fork. "Because it would be one less of them," he said, his dark eyes malicious.

"And it would add time to my sentence unnecessarily, so it's not really worth it, is it?" 

Dolohov looked beyond Lucius' shoulder. Lucius turned slowly to see what Dolohov was looking at. Chorley sat two tables down from them, his jaw still sporting a purple bruise from Lucius' greeting. He saw Lucius and waved. Lucius turned slowly back to Dolohov. Dolohov shook his head. "Just don't get too friendly with him."

Lucius smiled. "Or else what? I'm already in prison, as you may recall."

Crouch had come to their table now and sat down next to Dolohov. He nodded at them in turn. "What did I miss?" he asked.

"Malfoy is getting friendly with a Muggle," Dolohov answered him.

Crouch looked at Malfoy. "That's a despicable idea," he said.

Lucius sighed. "First of all, I hardly need advice from you, Crouch. Second of all, what Dolohov actually means is that I haven't yet killed him. Apparently, choosing not to kill him unneccessarily now counts as getting friendly."

"He just waved at you," Dolohov pointed out.

"He's also insane," Lucius said, raising both eyebrows. "Some inept Death Eater miscast an Imperius Curse on him, which caused him to lose his faculties, hence his presence here in Azkaban. Believe me, I do my best to ignore him."

Crouch shrugged. "Everyone expects you to do it," he said. "It would probably go a long way towards building your reputation in here."

"I don't owe a single soul in here anything," Lucius said. "Additionally, I have no interest in adding time to my sentence to support the status quo." His voice was light, but Hermione could hear the undercurrent of worry there.

Crouch leaned in. "What they're saying about you is true then," he said, smirking, "They're saying you've gone soft, ever since the Department of Mysteries." 

Lucius glanced at him. "Then I'd say it's a good thing I don't care what 'they' are saying." 

"Did I say 'they?' What I meant was the Dark Lord," Crouch said, his mouth forming a crooked smile. 

"He speaks to you in here? I doubt that," Lucius said. 

Crouch sat up straight once again. "The Dark Lord's Legilimency can breach even the walls of Azkaban. Do you thus doubt his power, Malfoy?" he asked coolly. 

"I didn't say that," Lucius answered, and for the first time, Hermione heard a nervous edge to his words. Lucius recovered his composure quickly. "I don't doubt his power; I doubt your importance." 

Dolohov now joined back in the conversation once again. "I'll bet you'd kill that Muggle if the Dark Lord told you to," he said. 

"Of course I would," Lucius answered, "but I hardly think one Muggle that has already been forgotten about by both our world and theirs is worth the Dark Lord's time." 

"And yet you will be tested, either this way or some other," Crouch said cryptically. 

Lucius looked at him. "Then I feel I should thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for looking out for my best interests," he said. Without another word, he got up from the table and left. He looked concerned upon exiting, no doubt wondering how much more he could afford to alienate his fellow Death Eaters. 

Now it was night, back in the cell once again. Chorley had started talking, because of course he had. "I wish I knew what happened out there after I disappeared," he said. "I don't have a lot of people left to miss me, I suppose, just my grandmother, who raised me, but she's in a rest home, and of course there are people at work, but it was mostly nose to the grindstone for me. I suppose I regret not having more connections, but that ended up working well in the end, didn't it?" Hermione heard his voice break. He took a few deep breaths, recovering. 

"I shouldn't really feel sorry for myself. I mean, imagine if I'd had kids. That would have been really awful, wouldn't it? I'd miss them terribly and I like to think they'd miss me, but who actually knows? None of it's real, anyway. What about you, Malfoy?" Chorley turned his head to Lucius. "Do you have a family? You seem like you might have a family." Chorley sighed and looked back at the ceiling. "Sometimes I wish you'd talk to me," he said. "I may be a Muggle, but I'm a human, and you're now the only family I have." He sighed again. "Granted, you hate me arbitrarily and completely, and you're from a world so entirely removed from mine that I can only make the feeblest attempts at connection. But I need connection to someone, and I think you do too. Again, not feeling sorry for myself, but I'm going to keep trying; I'm never going to give up on you as long as we're here. Together." He paused for a moment and looked at Lucius intently once again, as if willing him to connect back and Hermione felt a pang of empathy, having been in a similar situation herself with Lucius. "I'm guessing you have a family. Do you have any kids? Do you miss them? What are their names?"

Lucius maintained his silence for a moment, but Hermione could see something shift in his face. "Draco," he whispered. His answer was quiet, but it carried in the stone of the cell. Hermione saw Chorley's eyes widen before the scene dissolved. 

CHAPTER 52: COMMISSION

The scene re-formed later at night, perhaps that same night, perhaps a different night. Lucius was lying on his bunk with his eyes closed, but Hermione knew there was no way he was asleep, because it was, after all, a memory. "Lucius," a cold voice said; it was drawn out, each consenant sibilant on the stone walls of the cell. The voice wasn't Chorley's, that was definite. Lucius eyes snapped open. He sat up and pushed up his sleeve. The Dark Mark was glowing eerily. Hermione wasn't sure how Voldemort could get through the powerful anti-magic spells woven into the walls of the prison, but there was no doubt that was exactly what was going on, just as Crouch had warned. 

"My Lord?" Lucius whispered.

"You've forgotten about me," Voldemort said. His voice reverberated around the cell, but Chorley remained fast asleep in the other bunk, so Hermione guessed it was something only Lucius could hear. 

"Hardly, my lord," Lucius answered. "How may I serve you?" 

"I have a task for you, if you wish to redeem yourself."

"What shall I do?" 

"You would like to redeem yourself, wouldn't you, Lucius?" Now, projected into Lucius' mind was the Department of Mysteries, Lucius losing the prophecy, being beaten by Sirius Black, and then taken into custody by the Aurors. 

"More than anything," Lucius answered, his voice dull.

Laughter echoed around the cell, chilling Hermione. "You are lying, Lucius. While your lack of compunction has been useful to me in the past, your arrogance has made you reckless, not once, but time and time again, which is why you are here in Azkaban. In fact, your imprisonment has made you far less useful, and you know what I do to wizards who have no use, don't you Lucius?"

"Yes," Lucius said so quietly that Hermione could barely hear him.

"Now, perhaps you would like to redeem yourself, but I scarcely believe that you want it more than anything. I can only hope that one day you'll feel what it is to be lied to...betrayed...and feel that sting as keenly as I've felt it with you...my one-time lieutenant. But in my overwhelming mercy, I am willing to give you a second chance, even though you don't really deserve it."

"I'll do anything you ask of me, my lord," Lucius answered. "How can I prove myself to you?" 

"Kill Barty Crouch Jr.," Voldemort said.

"Kill Crouch?" Lucius asked, voice full of doubt. "He may be one of your most loyal followers."

"Are you questioning me?" The Dark Mark burned red, no doubt with Voldemort's wrath. Clearly it must have hurt because Lucius clamped down on it with his other hand and gripped it hard as his shoulders tensed.

"No," he managed through gritted teeth. "Although I'd just as soon not kill another pureblood wizard if it can be avoided."

" _He_ has ceased to be useful to me altogether, and he knows too much to live, although I concede that his blood status is regrettable. Make it look like an accident or better yet, that he took his own life. Don't let it be traced back to you; this is why I trust only you to do it."

Lucius swallowed. "You honor me, my lord," he said. 

"Don't fail me, Lucius."

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lord." The cell fell silent and the Dark Mark faded once again. Lucius rubbed his left arm, as if to erase a mistake indelibly etched into his flesh and into his soul. He lay back in the bunk, continuing to rub his arm idly as he stared at the ceiling, and Hermione suspected that Lucius was starting to plan in his mind how to carry it out. Hermione guessed that the idea had him worried, not because he wouldn't be able to do it; Hermione knew based on history and strong rumor that he had, but because it indicated that Voldemort's most loyal followers were expendable, even the pureblooded ones. Lucius likely wondered when a hit would be called on him.

The scene faded into dark smoke and Hermione caught a tiny fragment of memory of Lucius pocketing a spoon during the next meal in the Main Hall. Then, later in his bunk, at night, he started to scrape the edge of the handle on the rough granite of the cell wall. He was sitting up, focused on the task at hand. 

As always, Chorley watched him, lying on his side, head propped up on his hand. "What are you doing?" he asked. 

Just as typically as Chorley watched or tried to engage Lucius, Lucius ignored him.

"What are you doing?" Chorley asked him again, now sitting on the edge of his bunk and resting his elbows on his knees. 

Lucius sighed in annoyance. He continued rubbing the edge of the spoon on the granite. 

"What are you doing with the spoon?" Chorley was unrelenting.

"Baking a cake," Lucius muttered. 

"You're making a weapon. You're going to kill someone."

Lucius actually stopped and turned to look at him, smiling. "You don't let anything get past you, do you, Chorley? You're definitely the brightest Muggle with whom I've had the pleasure of sharing an Azkaban cell."

"Are you going to kill Shunpike? I told you before, attacking gaurds is a bad idea."

"No, not Shunpike, although I don't understand why everyone in here seems to think I need their advice."

Chorley swallowed. "Are you going to kill me?"

Lucius turned back to sharpening the spoon. "That depends," he answered. 

"On what?"

"On whether or not you ever inflict that Merlin-forsaken song on me ever again," Lucius said.

Chorley breathed a sigh of relief. "Not me, then," he said. 

"No, not you. You're not worth my time and effort, Chorley." 

"Thank you?"

Lucius re-gripped the spoon to expose another bit of the edge to the wall. "There's no need to thank me, but you can help me if you want to."

Chorley shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't have a quarrel with anyone in here and I'd like to keep it that way."

Lucius shrugged. "As you will," he said, "but you should know that the person I plan on killing was the one who cast the Imperius Curse that landed you in here in the first place." It was a bald-faced lie; Crouch had been in Azkaban when the attack on the Prime Minister's staff had happened and Lucius had been in St. Mungo's at the time, healing from the Department of Mysteries fight, prior to his hearing and incarceration. 

"How...how do you know that?" Chorley scratched his head.

"People do talk and this prison is not a large one. If it were me, I'd want revenge," Lucius said, moving the spoon again into a different angle. He softened his voice a little. "You didn't do anything wrong; you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If it weren't for him, you'd have your freedom, the chance to forge those precious connections, even have a family of your own." 

Chorley pondered for a moment and then shook his head and laid back down once again. "I don't want revenge. It won't change anything. It's like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Very well, Chorley. Just try and keep your mouth shut; I know it will be difficult."

"All right." For a moment the only sound in the cell was the scrape of metal on stone. Chorley then spoke again. "I'm a pacifist you know. Violence doesn't solve anything, not really."

Lucius smirked. "You're also a liar."

"Excuse me?" Chorley sat up once again and looked at him. 

"You heard me the first time I spoke, Muggle. I hit you in the face and it shut you up. Violence solved my problem in that instance, and the irony is, it was your idea in the first place."

Chorley smiled. "Yes, you hit me at my suggestion, and in so doing, you gave me power over you. Was that your intention? To cede your power to a Muggle? Because that's exactly what I saw happen." 

Lucius said nothing. Hermione smiled once again. Chorley had a point, but far be it from Lucius to admit to him. 

Chorley gestured at the spoon. "Also, whatever problem you're trying to solve with violence, with killing, won't be solved, but multiplied. Violence can only ever beget more violence." 

"Is that another magic spell, Chorley? In my world, we call that Divination, and it's largely nonsense."

Chorley picked at a hole in his mattress. "No, I'm not divining anything. I mean, I am, but it's not based on magic, or reading chicken entrails, or whatever it is you people do; it's based on eons of human history. All revolutions are 360 degrees, even ones solved with violence."

Lucius shook his head. "You're right. Not about violence; in that instance, you're just naïve and foolish. You're right about not being able to help me. Avery will do it. He's barely human in his capacity for cruelty and mostly just content to watch the world burn." Lucius looked at Chorley and smiled. "Don't fret your idealistic little Muggle head about it, Chorley. I'll sort it out."

CHAPTER 53: VANITY

Another montage went by of Lucius working the spoon every night and Chorley watching him, attempting to engage him in conversation, with varying degrees of success. After several weeks, Lucius had eroded the end of the spoon handle down to a nasty, thin, jagged edge ending in a sharp point. On the last night, he cleaned it off carefully and then took a handful of stolen rubber bands out of his pocket and put them on the bed in front of him. He wrapped a few of them, one at a time around the bowl of the spoon, making a hilt. 

Lucius picked up one more rubber band and held it in his left hand. He looped it around his thumb and index finger, stretching it tight. He grasped his new weapon in his right hand and with one move, severed the rubber band. It flew across the room and landed at Chorley's feet. Chorley picked it up and looked at it. It hung limply from his fingers like a dead worm. "Don't do it," he said, his eyes tracking back to where Lucius sat.

Lucius picked up another rubber band and strung it between his fingers. He closed and opened them, stretching the rubber band and letting it go slack again. "It will be as quick and merciful as I can possibly make it," he said quietly. 

"Are you telling me, or telling yourself?"

Lucius rewared Chorley with a dark look. "I'm talking to myself and I'll thank you not to interrupt me."

Chorley held his hands up in defeat and lay back down on his bunk. Lucius stowed his weapon underneath his mattress. He then got out a comb, and started combing his hair. Starting at the top, working so quickly that Hermione could barely see his fingers move, Lucius made a narrow French braid. When that was finished, he secured it with one of the rubber bands and started a second, right next to the first. Then a third. After the fourth, he shook out his arms, flexing his fingers. 

Chorley, clearly not equal to the temptation not to ask him, sat up yet again. "What are you doing?" As Chorley said it, Lucius said it at the exact same time, in a perfectly synchronized prediction.

Chorley grinned sheepishly and even Lucius smiled. "Preparing. Actually, I should have done this a long time ago, but as you can see, it's quite time-consuming."

"Who taught you how to do it?" 

"Someone who knew how to mind their own affairs, Chorley." He started on a fifth braid. 

"Oh come on, just tell me," Chorley said plaintively. "I won't tell anyone else." 

Lucius sighed. "I really shouldn't reward this sort of behavior," he said. Chorley's grin widened and he put his chin in his hands, looking at Lucius expectantly. "But seeing as I'm going to be stuck doing this for a while, I may as well tell you." He put the rubber band in and started on another braid. "Do you know what Quidditch is?" he asked.

Chorley nodded. "It's a game played on broomsticks, sort of like basketball meets football meets ultimate frisbee." 

Lucius paused. "If you say so," he finally said. 

Chorley continued: "The Quaffle is worth 10 points and the three Chasers deal with that; the Beaters are in charge of the Bludgers, which are balls that attack you and the Seeker catches the golden Snitch, which is worth 150 points."

Lucius nodded. "That's the essence of it, and yes, it's played on broomsticks. I was inducted onto the Slytherin team in my fourth year at Hogwarts, as Keeper." Hermione considered it a good fit for someone like Lucius; Keepers had to be patient and calculating. "Our captain was a fine-looking but brutal mistress named Maeve. She was one of the Chasers and she wore her hair thusly." He gestured at the side of his head that now lay in braids. Chorley stared at him, absorbing every word. "She came up to about here on me," Lucius added, holding his hand, palm down, at the level of his collarbone. "But her small stature simply served as proof that evil can be concentrated into a convenient travel size." He smiled and then popped his knuckles one at a time before starting a new braid. "The summer between second and third year was when I started growing out my hair. I did it mostly to annoy my father, but the witches found it appealing, so I've kept it ever since." 

"It suits you," Chorley said.

"Stating the obvious, but thank you," Lucius said, tilting his chin down graciously, all while continuing to work. "Long hair may be beguiling, but it's hardly practical for any sport, particularly one played on broomsticks. It got in my way during practice, and dear Maeve would yell at me and call me vain, entitled, selfish, spoiled, and other refinements. And she had a way..." Lucius trailed off and sighed in rapture, "...of lacing her insults in such creative profanity and fiery passion that you could almost feel the heat coming off of her words. It was like basking by a heater when she really got going."

Lucius shrugged. "But, unmoved by her profound vulgarity and incendiary hatred for me, I refused to put my hair up, an issue that quickly escalated into a contest of wills. I assured Maeve it wasn't a problem and she went out of her way to prove me wrong. I would defiantly let my hair blow in the wind, and she would deliberately have our two Beaters send Bludgers my way as punishment. I would miss Quaffles in practice because what Keeper doesn't? When I did, whether it was true or not, Maeve would invariably blame my hair." 

Lucius finished another braid and started a new one. "The tipping point came during a game against rival team Gryffindor. Before the game, Maeve stated to me that if we lost the game on account of my hair, she would either take matters into her own hands and I would have to throw myself on her mercy, or she would evict me from the team." 

Chorley held up a hand. "Hold on: that if you lost the game by whose account, exactly?" 

Lucius nodded sagely. "That's a good question, Chorley; I'm glad you're paying attention. Seven players to a Quidditch team, two of whom stand in opposition; that would be me and Maeve. That leaves five, an odd number that happens to be perfect for a vote. We agreed to it, and the game began. It was long, over two hours, and we were up by 150 points, but no one had caught the Snitch yet, so it was still anyone's game. It was a windy day, making the Snitch tricky to see by the two Seekers. But it finally made its appearance and the chase was on. At first, it was looking good for our Seeker, who was edging out the Gryffindor Seeker, but it was just so close. 

"No one was watching the rest of the game, as all attention was on the two Seekers. They both had their hands outstretched, the Snitch within centimeters of their fingertips. In that moment, three things happened, or so I was told later, because I only knew about one of them. A gust of wind came along and all I could see was hair, and a split second later, the stadium errupted." Lucius paused, finishing up a braid. Half of his head was now done.

"What had happened? Who won? What were the other two things?" Chorley asked breathlessly.

Lucius smiled slightly at Chorley's obvious excitment and then started on the second half of his head. "The Gryffindor Seeker caught the Snitch, and in the exact same moment a Gryffindor Chaser came up on my flank and sent the Quaffle through my right hoop, scoring another 10 points in addition to the 150 by their Seeker. Gryffindor won, 310 to 300. It was a game truly like no other." 

Chorley's eyebrows had flown up and his mouth now made an _O_ of surprise. 

Lucius continued. "Maeve was furious, as you might imagine, and it was voted unanimously that my hair was to blame for the loss of the game. We got back to our common room and they sat me down. So there I was, facing off against not just Maeve, but my five other angry teammates. One of them had brought a pair of huge, bright silver robe maker's shears and a straight razor, both of which they handed off to Maeve to do the deed. So there she stood: chest high, one weapon in each hand, as if preparing to fight me Florentine--that's dueling with two wands, Chorley, before you ask. I wasn't even sure if she was going to cut my hair or cut my throat. My belief at the time was that the latter would have been preferable. That said, I'm not ashamed to say I begged her not to do it, neither to cut my hair, nor to evict me from the team. I told her and the rest of them that I had made a mistake, and that I would do anything to avoid either of those two options. 

"They sent me to stand in the corner. One of the other players magicked a circle onto the wall and I had to stand literally with my nose in that circle while they conferred. When they called me back over, they sat me back down again. 'All right, Malfoy,' Maeve said. 'You can stay, and I won't cut your hair, but you have to become my House Elf.' I hastily agreed, even though it rankled. Maeve said, 'You're a rich prick, so you know you have to do everything I tell you to do, which will mostly be things I don't want to do myself. Also, you have to wear your hair like mine so that not only will it by out of your face, but more importantly, so everyone who sees you will know whose little House Elf you are.'"

"That seems barbaric," Chorley said. 

Lucius shrugged, securing a braid. "Considering that they would have been well within their rights to fire me from the team, not really. Anyway, the first thing Maeve made me do was learn how to do my hair like this. I did it wrong at first, with frightful lumps all over, and she made me undo the entire thing. I explained to her that my hair was a lot finer than hers so it was harder for me, but she wasn't having it; she just told me I was crying like a baby Mandrake and to 'shut the fuck up.'" Lucius held up his hands. "Her words, mind you. I had spent three hours on it the first time, and she made me take every single braid out and do it over again. And again. I was up all night getting it right the first time. The worst part about it was that she did it with magic, but oh no, that wasn't an option for me. So, even though my fingers almost fell off in the trying, I learned how to do it properly, without magic."

"Did she ever teach you the spell?" 

"As it happens, she did, for the very last game of the season, the one for the Quidditch Cup. Bear in mind, however, that this was after six months of having to do it without magic, for every single game prior to that."

Chorley rested his chin in his hands. "And did you use the spell for that game?"

Lucius shook his head. "I did not. We had enjoyed a pretty tremendous winning streak and I attributed it to the ritual of braiding my hair the night before the game. So, I changed nothing." Hermione sighed exasperatedly in hearing this, as between Ron, Harry, Ginny, and every other Quidditch player she had known, she was well-aware of the near-obsessive superstition possessed by those who played the sport.

"Did you win?" Chorley asked.

"Of course we did." Lucius shook out his hands and rolled his wrists before starting another braid. "You see, Chorley, I wasn't just braiding, I was visualizing, concentrating on what I had to do the following day. As I worked, I pictured each play the other team might use against us and what my role as Keeper would be for each. And of course, I would picture it going successfully. In the end, I realized that was part of the reason that Maeve made me do it, to refine and clarify my focus as an athlete and subsequently as a wizard."

"Is that why you're doing it now?"

"Partially. I'm visualizing what I need to do, mentally solving potential problems, and picturing it going successfully. But as in Quidditch, I need my hair out of the way should this entire enterprise not go my way."

"Do you think it won't?"

"No, but seeing as the stakes are higher than you can possibly know, not being prepared would be imprudent."

Chorley nodded, but he looked wary. "I suppose that sounds reasonable. Whatever happened to Maeve?"

Lucius sighed, his eyes far away. He only had about three braids to go. "She played Quidditch professionally after Hogwarts, and then she was killed in the first wizard war."

"Did you kill her?"

"No, I didn't," Lucius answered him coldly.

"Did you go to her funeral?"

Lucius looked away from him. "I think that's enough story time for one evening, Chorley. I would hardly want to keep you up past your bedtime." 

"All right. Thanks for telling me." Chorley laid back down and rolled over on his side, facing the wall. Lucius finished off the last few braids. With all his hair secured to his head, the angles of his face were more pronounced and he looked even more intimidating and cold. He put the extra rubber bands in a pocket and laid down himself, staring at the ceiling for a while before his eyes closed.


	19. 54: Assassination; 55: Strikethrough; 56: Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius carries out his assigned task with apparently resounding success, only to find the rug pulled out from underneath him. To her horror, Hermione finds out first-hand the origin of the scars on Lucius' back. Lucius' respite from this vile torture comes at a price he finds agonizing in a completely different way. Following this, Lucius has quite possibly the most important conversation of his life with an ancient enemy.
> 
> _The most surprising thing to Hermione was just how calm Lucius was; as he had predicted to Chorley, it was clear that he had not allowed room in his mind for even the smallest possibility of failure in this enterprise. His demeanor didn't even reflect cockiness, it just reflected an iron-clad, laser-focused, ice-cold assurance in his own abilities. Hermione found it as unnerving as it was impressive. Had it been her assigned to that sort of job, Hermione knew she would have been a mess. Thus armed both literally and figuratively, Lucius moved slowly into the showers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize for a few things: First, I have to be vague AF in this chapter summary so as not to give too much away. Second, I have to apologize for this chapter in general: it is hands down one of the bloodiest, darkest, most violent (and angsty-est) chapter in the story, like the end of a Shakespeare tragedy (I'm not comparing myself to Shakespeare...I'm just saying... "Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him," ya know? _-Macbeth, V,i_ ), so brace yourselves if you are triggered by this sort of thing. 
> 
> I drag Lucius down to his absolute rock bottom here through a trial by fire. I do this for the express purpose of building him back up, rising phoenix-like from the ashes so he can be the fiercely protective, ruthless, virile, pragmatic Slytherin bastard I very cheerfully thought he was in CoS and OotP, a persona that really fizzled in DH for me. I started out this story arc for Lucius after reading/watching DH and going, _wait a second, what if Lucius came out of Azkaban stronger instead of weaker? What would that take?_ , and this is what I came up with, but it is not for the faint of heart. A sea change of this magnitude in someone so entrenched in his beliefs as Lucius Malfoy would take something D-R-A-S-T-I-C. That's the bad news. The good news is it's not the darkest, most fucked-up thing on AO3, not by a long shot. 
> 
> The other good news is that if you bear with me through this one, I reward you guys with roughly 9,000 words of sex in one stand-alone chapter, and not just any sex, the sort of sex that at least some of you have been awaiting for >200,000 words. *coughAliduckcough*

_Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.  
-C.S. Lewis_

CHAPTER 54: ASSASSINATION

The scene faded and re-formed in a bathroom at night. The showers were running. A guard opened the door and called in: "Ten minutes. Ten minutes until lights out." He disappeared. Showers turned off and the bathroom started to empty. One still ran. Two cubicles were still closed, but once everyone else had left, the doors opened. Avery came out of one, and Lucius came out of the other. Avery was naked. Lucius nodded at him and jerked his head towards the shower. Avery grinned maliciously and crept into the showers. 

For about a minute, Lucius waited silently against a wall, not moving a muscle. He then stripped out of his prison uniform and folded it neatly on a sink, but not before he pulled his sharpened spoon out of one of the pockets. Once Lucius was naked as well, Hermione noted that there were fewer serpents on his chest than she was used to seeing, and that _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ was still intact. Lucius took the spoon in his right hand, the sharpened end facing up and catching the bathroom light on its honed edge. 

The most surprising thing to Hermione was just how calm Lucius was; as he had predicted to Chorley, it was clear that he had not allowed room in his mind for even the smallest possibility of failure in this enterprise. His demeanor didn't even reflect cockiness, it just reflected an iron-clad, laser-focused, ice-cold assurance in his own abilities. Hermione found it as unnerving as it was impressive. Had it been her assigned to that sort of job, Hermione knew she would have been a mess. Thus armed both literally and figuratively, Lucius moved slowly into the showers. 

Crouch stood under the only running shower, head tilted back as the water sluiced down the back of his short, dark hair. Avery knelt in front of him, distracting him in exactly the same manner that Hermione had distracted Lucius for the purpose of stealing his wand. It gave a new meaning to Lucius' wrath over that particular event, but Hermione had to admit it had a certain poetic justice. As Lucius had no doubt intended, Crouch's eyes were closed and he breathed rapidly through his mouth, his attention diverted completely away from his surroundings. 

Lucius crept up behind him. He slid between Crouch and the shower wall, and then he snaked his hand around Crouch's neck and struck without hesitation: quick, decisive, unerring, and surgically precise, to the left of Crouch's windpipe. Bright red arterial blood shot out, propelled by Crouch's elevated heart rate. It sprayed all over the opposite wall and mixed with the water already swirling down the drain, turning it into a whirl-pooling lake of crimson. 

Avery had ducked to the side just in time. Crouch went to his knees, and then down to side, his life pulsing out of him with each frantic beat of his increasingly blood-starved heart. As it ebbed, Lucius knelt beside him. He gently lifted Crouch's head and used the spoon to cut a couple of hesitancy marks just above his collarbone, to make it appear that Crouch had wavered before committing the deed himself. "The Dark Lord thanks you for your loyal service," Lucius whispered in Crouch's ear before lowering his head carefully down to the floor. Crouch looked at him in dismay before his eyes faded and his blood stopped running out of him. Once it did, Lucius tucked the spoon carefully into Crouch's right hand. He stood and used the still-running shower to wash the blood off of his hands.

Avery actually chuckled at Crouch's lifeless body, the last remnants of his blood draining with the water in thin scarlet lines that cut across the neat square tiles of the shower. "Idiot," Avery said, shaking his head. "Did you see his face?" He dug Lucius in the ribs with his elbow.

"Yes," Lucius said, looking down at his handiwork with an uneasiness that Hermione had not expected to see. "Yes, I did." 

Avery turned away, already bored. "We'd better hurry if we want to make curfew," he said.

He and Lucius went back to the cubicles, rapidly got dressed and left. The scene faded. 

The Main Hall manifested out of the swirling shadows. Lucius sat opposite Dolohov and Mulciber. "I have a hard time believing that he killed himself," Dolohov said, picking at his food aimlessly. His dark eyes had shadows underneath them and the lines between them were deep; it was the face of a man taking Crouch's loss to heart. Hermione did some quick arithmetic in her head and surmised that they had been in prison together on and off for over a decade. 

"Crouch was a walking dead man anyway," Lucius said indifferently. "He merely saved Fudge the inconvenience and hassle of surviving and thus proving him a liar."

"You don't seem very broken up about it," Mulciber said. 

"Should I be? He was no friend of mine," Lucius said, looking down his nose at Mulciber. 

"He was a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, like the rest of us." Dolohov fixed Lucius with intensity lighting his dark eyes, almost as if he was taking up the mantle of resentment that the late Crouch had left behind. "Did you kill him?" 

Lucius leaned across the table towards him. "First of all, why would I do that? Second of all, if I did, do you really think I would admit to it? Last of all, if I were to admit to it, do you really think I would do it in the middle of the Main Hall during a meal?" 

Dolohov sat back and folded his arms. "Typical Malfoy," he sneered, shaking his head. "You know what? In all of what you just said, you never said the word 'no.' You _did_ kill him."

Mulciber frowned. He was a thick-set man of about 35 with a yellow thatch of hair. "I don't think Malfoy would do it; it would involve cutting a pureblood line."

Lucius smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said, nodding to Mulciber. 

Dolohov smiled as well, but it completely missed his eyes, which continued to burn with distrust at the very least. "Haven't you heard, though? Malfoy has a Muggle friend, so killing another pureblood wizard wouldn't really mean much to him. Isn't that right, Malfoy?"

Lucius looked at him with equally profound dislike and sighed in disgust. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, are we on that again? Besides, Dolohov, _you're_ going to talk to me about severing a pureblood line, you who did for the Prewett brothers all those years ago?" Lucius toyed with his fork. "Besides, Crouch's line was useless anyway; do you really imagine he would marry and sire an heir from inside Azkaban? He was a waste of magical blood, drunk on his previous accomplishments, and having outlived his usefulness as a servant of the Dark Lord as soon as he was put back in here."

"The same could be said about you," Dolohov pointed out. 

"Yeah," Mulciber added, looking even more uncertain than he had. Hermione got the feeling that he just sort of went along with the crowd, a man uncomfortable with any thought that originated from his own head.

Lucius looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one else in the hall was listening. Per usual, he and the other Death Eaters had a circumference of empty tables around them, as Hermione had noticed that the rest of the Hall generally avoided them. "I never said I did it, but if I did, I would only have done it on the Dark Lord's orders," Lucius said quietly to the two of them. "I may not have liked Crouch, but I wouldn't choose to end the life of any pureblood wizard, particularly one as singularly loyal as Crouch was, but I do follow orders without question." He leaned back. "The Dark Lord certainly has no cause for concern over _my_ loyalty." 

"That's a pretty convenient excuse," Dolohov said. "I think you had a grudge against Crouch and it escalated."

"Besides, don't you have a Muggle friend now?" Mulciber chimed in, now that he saw which way the wind was blowing.

"For the last time, he's my cell mate, so I'm stuck with him," Lucius said, glaring at both of them. "And ignoring him is far more convenient than coming up with a way of murdering him and making it look like an accident. How many more times must we go through this charade?" 

Dolohov shrugged. "It seems to me that you're slipping. Befriending a Muggle...ending the life of a fellow pureblood wizard and loyal Death Eater...and having the audacity to blame it on the Dark Lord. If you kill the Muggle, we might feel differently..."

"It's not something the Dark Lord has asked me to do, plain and simple, and I hardly think he would want me to have to spend even more time in Azkaban over something so trivial. Why do you care so much anyway?" Lucius asked.

"Everyone is tired of you, Malfoy," Dolohov said, leaning forward. "Tired of you acting so much better than the rest of us, when you're the biggest fraud of them all."

"Then you don't have to attend my next garden party if you don't wish to," Lucius said, smiling once again. "Nor do you, Mulciber. Nor does anyone who doesn't agree with my choices." He stood up from the table. 

"Watch your back, Malfoy, is all I'm saying," Dolohov said.

Lucius said nothing further, just gave Dolohov one more contemptuous look and then turned and walked out. Before he did, Hermione caught the same look of disquiet she had seen after he had slain Crouch.

Hermione found herself back in the cell after another memory shift. Lucius lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, stretching one of his rubber bands in his hand and letting it snap back. 

"What's bothering you?" Chorley asked, sitting up on his bunk. 

"Not 'what are you doing?'" Lucius said, smiling. 

"No, something's bothering you," Chorley replied.

"I'm supposed to kill you, Chorley," Lucius said, his tone mild, as if they were discussing the weather. 

"Oh," Chorley said, lying back down. "Well, that's what I first suspected when you started abusing the silverware."

"Well, Chorley, what can I say? When you're right, you're right." 

"And that bothers you?" Chorley's asked. "The idea of killing me?"

"If I were going to kill you, I would have done it by now," Lucius said. "Probably the night you serenaded me." 

Chorley grinned. "I can sing it again if you feel you need an excuse."

Lucius snapped the rubber band again. "If you wanted to improve my relations with Muggles, that probably wasn't the best way to go about it, you realize. Besides, do you really have that much of a death wish?"

"I can't really get too attached to my life right now, can I?" Chorley's voice was hollow.

"Chorley, you sound quite bereft, and not at all like your usual irrepressible self. Frankly, this self-pity is not at all becoming. And you ask if something's bothering me."

Chorley sighed. "I don't want to kill myself, like Crouch did, but I am starting to lose hope of ever getting out of here. I don't actually exist, I mean, do I?"

"You certainly make a lot of noise," Lucius answered him.

"Well yes, _you_ see me, but you and your world are invisible to mine, so what does that make me?"

"Annoying, Chorley. It makes you annoying." 

"So what are you waiting for?" Chorley asked, and for the first time, he sounded bitter.

Lucius sighed as well. "Regrettably, I seem to have misplaced my weapon, and killing you and covering it up is a massive waste of my time, as I've said." 

"Then why are you supposed to kill me?"

"Because of the nature of my kind. I've spent my life, man and boy, hating Muggles and Muggle-born wizards, so those people who think as I do are applying the pressure for me to show the courage born of my convictions, especially now that Crouch, another pureblood wizard, has died, along with his lineage." 

"What does that have to do with me?" Chorley asked.

Lucius glanced at him. "Virtually nothing. It's not about you at all, but what you represent. In this instance you're merely a symbol."

"Why do you have to succumb to their expectations?"

"Not to do so puts my own life under near-constant threat." 

"So again, I'll ask you, what are you waiting for? I'm not likely to put up a fight, and even if I were to, you would still win." 

Lucius paused, his eyes searching the ceiling, a gray, flat expanse of stone that no doubt yielded as few clues as it did features. "I don't know," he finally said. "I can't really seem to make sense of doing it any more. Events that have occurred over the last year and a half have made it harder and harder to see the point in killing a Muggle for no reason." _Particularly the only person in Azkaban who showed uncompromising, incomprehensible loyalty to him,_ Hermione thought. Likely Lucius had thought the same thing, but he would never say it out loud.

Chorley rolled up on his side and looked at him. "You should be careful; you're starting to sound as if you actually have a conscience in that ridiculously plaited head of yours." 

Lucius turned his head and returned Chorley's gaze. "If you tell anyone, I really will kill you," he said. He smirked. "And mocking my hair just proves that, like so many others, you are jealous of it and by extension, of me. I'd be upset, but it's perfectly natural and you would not be the first nor shall you be the last." After being rewarded with an abashed grin from Chorley, Lucius stared at the ceiling once more. 

"Don't worry," Chorley replied, "no one would believe me if I did." 

"In all seriousness though, I'm walking a tightrope at the moment; the smallest misjudgment will spell my doom."

"That's a little dramatic, wouldn't you say?"

"Not in this case, it's not. My point is, you should lay low; whatever you may see or hear, stay well clear of it if you have any sort of survival instinct."

"Clearly I must not," Chorley replied.

"Then just stay out of my way." Lucius sighed and rolled over, away from Chorley, who continued to stare at the ceiling, his face devoid of hope.

CHAPTER 55: STRIKETHROUGH

Darkness fell. When it was light enough to see again, Hermione was back in the bathroom. This time, the entire scene was tinged in red and Hermione's heart flipped over as she realized that she had reached the mysterious memory of the same hue. Whatever she was about to see was what Lucius had warned her against, what he had almost omitted from the Pensieve in the first place. 

Lucius stood at a sink. He was shirtless and Hermione could see in the mirror the new serpent on his chest, now representing Crouch, traversing the right side of his ribcage. Stan Shunpike stood at the door, watching Lucius and the rest of the men in the bathroom. Hermione assumed that after Crouch's death, surveillance had increased, particularly in the bathrooms, which could explain Stan's presence now, where no guards had been present when Lucius had killed Crouch. 

The bathroom was ominously silent. With more than a few people, someone should have been talking, but no one was. The only sound was running water. After a moment, Avery, Dolohov, and Mulciber walked in and stood in a row behind Lucius. The rest of the prisoners left, filing out in a synchronization that was eerie to Hermione, which left Stan at the door. Lucius stopped what he was doing and locked eyes with Dolohov in the mirror.

"Thank you Stan, you can go now," Dolohov said, all the while looking back at Lucius. Stan smiled at Lucius as well and ducked out. 

Lucius never broke eye contact with Dolohov. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?" he asked, his voice light. Nothing obvious about him betrayed any fear, but Hermione could see the subtle signs that she caught only because she knew him: the sheen of sweat breaking out on his body and the slight increase in his breathing. He had tensed up as well, as if deciding whether to strike or to run. It was a stark contrast to his demeanor the previous time Hermione had seen him in the bathroom.

"Only if you make a problem, Malfoy," Avery answered, smiling widely. His whole demeanor was that of an predator moving in for the kill, showing the same sadistic delight that he had demonstrated with Crouch. _He's just content to watch the world burn,_ Lucius' words came back to haunt Hermione. 

Dolohov pulled Lucius' sharpened spoon out of his pocket and held it up. It was now clean of any trace of blood as if blank and thirsty for more. "Where did that come from?" Lucius said, straightening up. He turned and faced the other three. 

"Oh, I think you know," Dolohov answered. 

"Are you intending to kill me with it?" Lucius asked. His voice was still calm, but everything else about him was poised for a fight. 

"No," Mulciber answered. "We're not like you, Malfoy. We don't believe in ending a pureblood line for no reason, which may be why the Dark Lord specifically told us not to kill you."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "The Dark Lord? Really?" 

"He just said to punish you," Dolohov said.

"In any way we thought would be good," Avery said, grinning. "He said we could do whatever we wanted to you short of killing you." Hermione noted with distaste that he was practically shaking with excitement.

"Punish me for what, may I ask?" Lucius said. "Forgive my confusion, gentlemen, but if it's for my part in Crouch's death, it was done at the Dark Lord's behest, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't believe that this little gathering, too, is on the Dark Lord's orders." 

As if on cue, all three of them lifted up the sleeve of their shirts. Three Dark Marks glowed. Lucius looked at his own Dark Mark, which was its usual black. For the first time, his face showed fear and Hermione knew in that moment, as Lucius must have also realized, that his assassination of Crouch had been one giant set-up by Lord Voldemort. He was now completely alone and vulnerable; Voldemort had abandoned him. 

"You killed him, Lucius, don't bother denying it," Dolohov said. "Avery saw it with his own eyes. The Dark Lord is angry with you for killing his most selfless and loyal pureblood servant. He says that we're to punish you for--what was it? Ah yes, the sting of your lies and your betrayal. His wrath is terrible and he has honored us with carrying out his justice." 

"Avery helped, you know. I wouldn't have been able to do it without him," Lucius said.

Avery held up both hands. "I was just exchanging favors," he said, his grin widening. "How was I supposed to know you were going to interrupt us?"

Lucius looked at him, disgusted but not terribly surprised, before turning his attention back to Dolohov. "And he sent you, three against one? What did he think was going to happen, I wonder?"

Dolohov shrugged. "You can fight us if you want too, but I wouldn't recommend it. Taking your punishment would go a long way towards making the Dark Lord trust you once again; that was another thing he wanted us to tell you. Now, you've refused our advice so far during your time in Azkaban, but this time..." he sighed deeply. "You might want to follow it. And you won't win against the three of us anyway, so why try?" 

Lucius looked at the three of them in turn, and Hermione could see him weighing his options, all of which were equally undesirable. Unfortunately for him, what Dolohov had said was true. Cunning and ruthless as Lucius was, there was no way he could win in a non-magical fight against three other Death Eaters, and he knew it, and as Dolohov had pointed out, it would strongly suggest that he was disloyal to Voldemort if he didn't submit. As horrible as it might be for Lucius, he had his orders from his master. "Let's get this over with," Lucius finally said, tension settling in his jaw. 

"Avery, the blade," Dolohov said, holding out his hand. 

Avery smiled and handed it over. Dolohov's dark eyes lit up in triumph. Mulciber licked his lips nervously. Avery and Mulciber moved in and flanked Lucius. They took his arms and forced him face down onto the counter next to the sink. Dolohov turned Lucius head to the side and held it down. "Now...what should we do to you?" he asked.

"I say cut up his face so the witches won't fancy him quite so much," Avery said. 

Dolohov's eyes swept up Lucius' body and lit on his upper back. " _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,_ " he said out loud, " _Purity Always Conquers_. I don't think that quite applies to you any more. I think we need to strike it through. The Dark Lord did say something about feeling a sting, and this might sting just a little." Dolohov reversed the grip on the spoon so the sharpened end pointed down. He placed the point on the upper corner of the _S_ , not yet drawing blood, just indenting the skin, obviously building Lucius' fear. 

"I hope you worked hard to sharpen this," Dolohov said. "Otherwise it's going to be painful. Actually, it will hurt no matter what, or else it isn't really punishment, is it?" Now he pressed down until a dark drop of blood came out. He pushed deeper and slid slightly to the right until the drop slipped down, under Lucius' left shoulder blade. Lucius' breathing had sped up, but he hadn't made a sound. Dolohov slowly drew the blade further to the right, opening up the wound, and splitting the tops of the words. Hermione watched in horror. It wasn't as if she couldn't witness what was happening; without actually being corporeal, she could neither close her eyes, nor her ears. 

As Dolohov moved the blade through his skin, Lucius breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to work through what must have been agony. When Dolohov finally got to the other side, he held the spoon up, blade edge now bloody. He handed it off to Mulciber. "Your turn," he said. Mulciber took the spoon, and Dolohov traded places with him. Mulciber used the spoon to carve another line, just centimeters below the first, running parallel. Lucius now breathed rapidly, sweat beading on the rest of his skin. Blood dripped out of the edges of the parallel lacerations, running now more rapidly under his shoulder blades and down his ribs.

Mulciber didn't say a word; if anything, he looked ill at ease, so he just handed the blade to Avery when he was finished and they too traded places. Avery smiled again. "There's something else I'd like to stick in him too," he said to Dolohov.

Dolohov sighed, annoyed. "No, Avery, we talked about that."

"The Dark Lord didn't specify as to how we were to punish him, remember? How better than that? You know how men get in prison. Even _Malfoy_ knows how men get in prison." 

Dolohov hesitated, considering. "Fine, Avery, do it if you can't help yourself, but at least do your cut first." 

Hermione's heart sped up. Consent was the one line Lucius wouldn't cross. She had thought Purity Descending was the alpha and the omega, but was this yet another reason why? _Merlin, how many reasons_ are _there?_ Hermione thought. Hermione suddenly wanted out of the Pensieve more than she had ever wanted anything; watching Lucius get tortured was hard enough; she didn't think she could stand to watch him be violated as well. It occurred to her that if she really willed it, she could force herself out of the Penseive. However, as Lucius had said, Hermione had brought this on herself; she had been so desperate to find out the truth, regardless of what it entailed. Of course, when she said that, she truly had no idea what finding out the truth involved, but Lucius was right: she had made her bed. At the very least, she owed Lucius witnessing all of what he would show her, regardless of how horrific. Thus, Hermione steeled herself and let the memory unfold.

Avery positioned himself behind Lucius and started his own cut, just below the other two. He moved to the side, watching the blood come out with perverted fascination, now dripping onto the counter and then the green tiles of the floor. Avery's breathing increased as his excitement rose. Hermione watched in revulsion as Avery made the cut with his right hand, and with the left, he undid the drawstring of his trousers and put his hand down. He had gotten almost all the way across, cutting with right hand while keeping the left otherwise occupied. A detached part of Hermione wondered what would happen if she vomited in a Pensieve. She didn't want to find out.

Suddenly, one of the stall doors crashed open and Chorley busted out. He grabbed Avery around the neck from behind, wrenching him backwards and off of Lucius. The blade slipped to the side when this happened, creating the downward stroke that Hermione had seen. Before Chorley could do too much damage, Avery brought the blade up and sliced him in the arm. Chorley cried out and let him go. 

Mulciber and Dolohov quickly released of Lucius to assist Avery. Lucius stood slowly and turned. He obviously couldn't move fast, but he was up at least and free. Mulciber and Dolohov moved to Chorley now and started hitting him. Chorley hit back, but he was no match for the two additional Death Eaters. They knocked him to the floor and took turns kicking him. "Get him up," Dolohov said. By then, he had taken the blade back from Avery. Avery and Mulciber hauled Chorley to his feet. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his nose was bleeding, as were multiple cuts to his face. 

"I'm going to kill you, Muggle," Dolohov said, catching his breath and holding the blade millimeters from Chorley's face. "That is, unless someone..." he looked pointedly at Lucius, before looking back at Chorley "speaks up for you." He looked back at Lucius. "You can save him," Dolohov said, "after all, he just saved you from Avery's animal urges, so you probably owe him. All you have to do is ask me not to do it and I won't. His life will be saved, but that would make you the Muggle lover we all believe you to be, and _your_ life would then be worth nothing. Choose carefully, Malfoy." Dolohov's face was completely serious in presenting Lucius with this ultimatum. 

Lucius looked at Dolohov, and then back to Chorley. Hermione thought that she caught a hint of regret before Lucius' eyes turned cold again. "Do what you must," he finally said to Dolohov. Dolohov turned back to Chorley. 

Chorley looked at Lucius through his one eye that was not swollen shut. "I forgive you," he said quietly. Dolohov brought his hand up quickly and jammed the blade into the side of Chorley's neck. Blood started pulsing out, slower than Crouch's had been. 

"Let him go," Dolohov told the other two. They took their hands off and Chorley went to his hands and knees, the spoon still sticking grotesquely out of his neck, and the blood now coming faster, pooling, running down the sloped floor towards the drain and mixing with Lucius' blood already down there. In that moment, Stan Shunpike burst back in, flanked by several other guards. Stan saw Chorley bent over, blood running out of him, and his eyes widened. 

"Get 'im out of here; get 'im to the infirmary," Chorley shouted, his voice high-pitched with panic. Without hesitating, two of the other guards grabbed Chorley and half dragged, half carried him out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood behind. The other guards came in quickly and pinned the remaining men to walls and sinks, restraining them and yelling orders. When Lucius was pinned against the wall, the guard saw the lacerations and Lucius' back now completely covered with blood. "This one needs the infirmary as well," he said. He propelled Lucius to the door, followed by Stan and another guard. 

"It's nothing. I slipped," Lucius said.

"Shut up, Malfoy," the guard holding him said. "It's not a choice."

Mercifully, smoke rolled in, obscuring the bathroom. Hermione thought she might be done, that the Penseive would release her, now that she had seen the worst of it, but the smoke cleared, and once again, she was back in the infirmary, the doctor repairing the first of the three lacerations. Scrimgeour was standing and Lucius was looking towards the door. "Not you..." he said. "Anyone but you..."

CHAPTER 56: SANCTIMONIA VINCET SEMPER

As she had before, Hermione looked towards the door. This time, she got to see that it was Dumbledore who stepped into the light. "Good evening, Lucius," he said, his voice calm and mild. It did not contain the slightest trace of disappointment, contempt, vindication, or anything else Lucius was no doubt hoping to find there. Dumbledore was acting as if going to Azkaban in the middle of the night was commonplace almost to the point of being mundane, but Hermione would have expected nothing less.

Dumbledore wore long pale blue robes with moons worked on them in silver thread, matching his long beard and hair. His appearance contrasted sharply with the dark stone of the infirmary, the steel tables, the bright lights, and the blood and mess that was Lucius Malfoy. 

Lucius glared at him. "It is not a good evening; it's been a terrible evening. Why are you here?"

"I was told that you needed assistance," Dumbledore answered, walking towards the table. Scrimgeour stood as he came over, giving the stool over to him. 

"I'm hardly likely to accept it from you," Lucius said. "Do you really think I want you delving into the deepest recesses of my mind in teaching me Occlumency?" 

Dumbledore adjusted his robes and sat on the stool. He smiled, but it was a colder smile than Hermione was used to seeing. "Do _you_ really think I wanted to give up my Saturday night to come all the way out here to teach you how to become an even better liar than you already are? I'm here because the Minister of Magic asked me; in fact, he seemed to find it critical for defeating Voldemort. When he explained the situation, I agreed, but not without misgivings." 

"You mean you came here to gloat," Lucius said. Scrimgeour quietly excused himself, leaving just the two of them plus the two deaf Muggles. 

"Have I yet done anything of the kind?"

Lucius winced as the doctor's needle went in again, numbing a new section of the laceration. "To use me then?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'd like to help you. That's all I've ever wanted, whether you believe it or not, but if the only way you can reconcile what's happening is in the form of a transaction, then so be it." Dumbledore looked at Lucius sadly, from his tightly braided hair, to the massive lacerations and the wreck of his family motto to the blood-splattered prison trousers. "However, there is almost nothing about this situation that causes me anything but pain, Lucius," he said quietly. 

"Imagine then how I must be feeling," Lucius said grimly. The doctor had moved on to the plastic stapler, which clicked minutely as each staple found its mark, slowly approximating the edges of the first wound. 

"I imagine that the pain from the blade must pale in comparison with the pain over losing Chorley," Dumbledore said. 

Lucius smirked. "You're a bigger fool than even _I_ thought if you believe I care in the slightest about one dead Muggle." 

"Or the pain over Voldemort's betrayal," Dumbledore finished. 

"He didn't betray me; he was just teaching me a lesson," Lucius said. "You're a teacher; you of all people should understand that."

Dumbledore smiled wryly. "You may have noticed mine and Tom's methods of teaching differ slightly." His smile faded. "You know, lying to me isn't dangerous, Lucius, as I can see through your lies with ease. But the lies you tell yourself have turned deadly. This facade you've built, this armor, has consistently failed to shield you, as it shall always fail to shield you in the end. You'll find in this life that the same lesson shall come to you over and over, until you either learn it, or you die or kill someone close to you in stubbornly refusing to learn it." 

"What lesson are you referring to?" Lucius asked, sounding resigned. 

Dumbledore rested his hands on his knees. "The decisions you've made, the people in whom you've placed your trust, even your most cherished beliefs..." he gestured at the ruined tattoo, "all have let you down and will get you or your family killed if you don't abandon them immediately. I can't pull you out of this denial; only you can do that. Surely by now you must realize that Voldemort is not your ally; otherwise, why bother calling on Rufus Scrimgeour?" 

Dumbledore didn't wait for an answer. "I've known you for a very long time, Lucius. That said, I can hardly blame you for having wanted to trust someone all those years ago, particularly someone who had you so utterly convinced that he believed in you, that he saw your worth beyond your name, your resources, and your blood status. The truth is, Tom Riddle came to you at just the right moment, told you what you wanted to hear, and the rest, as they say, is history." He leaned towards Lucius and dropped his voice. "Do you truly believe yourself to be the master of exposing and exploiting the vulnerabilities of those around you? What you do is child's play compared to him." 

"What do you want?" Lucius asked, coming up on one elbow, the hatred in his voice piercing Hermione. "Why did you come to me? If it was, indeed, to revel in my current state, you can turn around and Apparate right back to Hogwarts." 

The doctor made an irritated noise and used his elbow to get Lucius to lay back down by pushing against the side of his head. Lucius relaxed and the doctor got back to work. 

Dumbledore sighed and spread his hands. "All I want is for you to search your soul for the truth, Lucius. I want you to find it in there and bring it forth. I'm asking this of you not for my own sake, but for yours. Your lies are splitting your soul in half, and I can only imagine the anguish that is causing you and by extension, your family." 

"You're asking a great deal," Lucius said, and for the first time since Dumbledore walked into the infirmary, Lucius sounded human and vulnerable, as if the smallest sliver of truth had accidentally slipped out of him, perhaps through one of the rents in his flesh. 

"Of course I am," Dumbledore replied simply. "I ask a great deal of you because a great deal has been given to you."

Lucius' guard immediately went back up. "This is starting to sound all too familiar, Headmaster; I believe you had a similar speech for me during my 6th year at Hogwarts, all about squandering my potential by falling in with the wrong people, making all the wrong choices, getting in too deep with Dark Wizardry, _ad infinatum_."

Dumbledore tipped his head down modestly. "I'm humbled that you even remember, Lucius. I'm afraid it applies as much, if not more now as it did then," he said. "But I'm glad to find you more receptive today, although I regret the harm that has already been done in the quarter century that has elapsed since." He turned serious once more. "You have been given an unprecedented level of privilege, Lucius, far more than most wizards. And I don't just mean being congenitally wealthy, although that hasn't helped the situation. You were the sole heir not just of the Malfoy fortune, but of the oldest traceable pureblood lineage in our world, and all the prestige and responsibility flowing naturally from that. Even more than that, you have been gifted with a healthy dose of inborn magical talent, a keen intellect, and a large measure of the four traits of Slytherin House: power, cunning, ambition, and determination." 

"I do hope then you'll tell me where I went wrong; I can hardly keep still for waiting," Lucius said. 

"Much of what you have, you have sacrificed nothing to get. Conversely, it was given to you, which means that it is far too easy for you to take it for granted. What this has done is made your behavior selfish, entitled, arrogant, and cruel. Add in a brutal, cold, hatred-fueled upbringing, and the decisions you've made and subsequently everything that has gone wrong in your life starts to make sense. Your privilege and the expectations inherent with that privilege have created an increasingly tight chokehold on you, a rigid cage that has gotten smaller and smaller until it has become, quite literally, a prison cell." 

"I'm proud of my lineage, Dumbledore. You can ask anyone."

"Yes you are, but the question is, why?" Dumbledore asked patiently. 

Lucius looked taken aback. "Because it's remained uncontaminated by Muggle blood for centuries," he answered. 

"Again, why is that something to be proud of? Yes, your family has spent all that time since the Statute of Secrecy passed rejecting perfectly worthy wizards and witches, not to mention Muggles, based merely on accidents of birth." Dumbledore looked at Lucius' back. " _Purity always conquers,_ " he read. "A destructive message if ever there was one."

"If you think my beliefs are destructive, you should have talked to my father," Lucius muttered.

"I did talk to Abraxas many times before his death."

"Indeed? And did my lordly father tell you what he said when I first befriended Severus?"

Dumbledore looked at his hands. "He did not." 

"He said, 'Lucius, I can almost forgive Mudbloods, because although they have no business practicing magic or occupying space in our world, their existence is always an accident. A Half-Blood, well, that's the true affront to wizardry: it means that one pureblood wizard knowingly bred with a Muggle and that filth, that abhorration...I cannot forgive.' Then, for about the hundredth time, he threatened to disinherit me if I ever did the same." Lucius' eyes flicked quickly over to Dumbledore. "Mind you, we weren't even talking about me at the time."

"But you befriended Severus anyway," Dumbledore pointed out, "and have been a good friend to him for many years, despite his 'unforgivable' lineage. And so again I'll ask you, then, what good has come about from maintaining such hateful rhetoric?"

"For what it's worth, it's taken strength, duty, and sacrifice to keep the Malfoy line untainted," Lucius said coldly, and Hermione realized that he was thinking of Purity Descending at the very least. "Do you think there weren't Malfoys in the past or even in the present that haven't wanted or loved Muggle-borns or even Muggles? There were. And yet they have-- _we_ have--made the sacrifices necessary to keep the line pure." 

"'For what it's worth'...a remarkably apt choice of words, Lucius. I must ask you, did it indeed make their lives better?" Dumbledore spread his hands. "Has any of this intolerance, these antiquated ideas about right and wrong that you've carried with you, that you've fed, and that you've now passed on to Draco, made your life or your family's lives better?" 

"In my turn, I too have carried forth the line," Lucius said, heat coming into his voice, "And for my part, I have refused to be the one to break its more than 300-year span."

"Answer the question, Lucius," Dumbledore said, his voice quiet. "Has maintaining the ideals of blood purity and hating all who fail to meet that arbitrary standard made your life any better?"

"Espousing those ideals has made my family strong," Lucius said. 

Dumbledore cocked his head to the side. "Has it though? Let's take a moment, shall we, and examine that statement."

"Oh, please, let's," Lucius said irritably. He grimaced as more lidocaine went in as the doctor started the second laceration. 

"We'll start with you, Lucius, because everything does, doesn't it?" For the first time, an impatient edge was creeping into Dumbledore's voice. "You're lying face-down in a prison infirmary, alone but for me, abandoned by all your fellow Death Eaters, betrayed by Voldemort, whom you swore to serve until death, and having turned against the one person in Azkaban who actually cared about your well-being and who, as a direct consequence of his loyalty to you, is dead. You're completely cut off from your family. You're also completely cut off from magic, which has been what has defined you for the entirety of your life; you are a wizard, nothing less."

As Dumbledore said this last, Hermione realized in a stunning moment of clarity why she felt so strongly drawn towards Lucius: deep-seated blood prejudices aside, he represented pure, unadulterated magic. Being a wizard was the core of his being, it what he had been born and bred to do and be, and his ancestors before him, and Hermione loved magic with all her heart, soul, and mind. 

Dumbledore continued, "Thus, without magic, without your master, and without your family, who are you?" 

"I still have my heritage. Purity always conquers." 

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "That it most certainly does."

Lucius looked at him, eyebrows raised. " _Now_ you agree with me?"

Dumbledore smiled, but it was with deep sadness. "Yes, but not in the manner you think. For the reasons I just mentioned, purity has certainly conquered you. And that obsession with keeping those ancient bloodlines pure has conquered many witches and wizards who refused to let Muggles or Muggle-born wizards into their families."

"Meaning what?" 

"Do you really want me to remind you of the consequences?"

Lucius sighed impatiently. "I've waited this long."

"Your own mother," Dumbledore said, his voice soft. 

Again, Lucius came up onto an elbow and glared at Dumbledore. "Leave her out of this," Lucius snapped. 

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well, Lucius. I can see you're not ready to face the truth, even though deep down you already know first hand. Besides, if I keep on tempting your wrath, the good doctor will never finish his repair." As he said it, Lucius glanced at the Muggle doctor, who waited, resigned, needle holder in his hand, for Lucius to settle down, which he finally did.

"So, we'll move on." Dumbledore put his hands back on his knees and leaned forward slightly. "Now, about Draco. He's a capable, intelligent enough young wizard, but there are plenty of students at Hogwarts whose abilities far outstrip his. In fact, Draco is right in the middle of the pack, neither better nor worse than anyone else: adequate, average, but hardly extraordinary. As it turns out, blood is no respecter of skill, discipline, and hard work, and as a matter of interest, the top student in his year happens to have been born of Muggles. For someone who...what was it? 'Has no business practicing magic or occupying space in our world,' she certainly has an aptitude for it. And perhaps most ironically, because she wasn't born into a wizarding family, particularly a pureblood wizarding family, she possesses discipline and a work ethic that Draco lacks." Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she realized Dumbledore was talking about her. 

Dumbledore leaned back. "As you might imagine, Draco hates her, but strangely, he doesn't actually own that hatred. He inherited it from you and so, by default, he acts it out as a matter of course. The part he owns is fear, which he also inherited from you, but he has taken it and made it his. He fears your expectations of him, knowing he can never live up to them, knowing that in fact, he isn't strong, he isn't you, nor will he ever be. One of Draco's fears of this remarkable young woman is actually yours: if a Muggle-born witch is so talented, where does that leave the idea of blood purity's superiority? Draco's own contribution to this fear is this: he has wronged this young witch over and over again, but deep down, he knows that if he ever finds himself on the wrong end of her wand, his blood status would do nothing whatsoever to save him, just as your blood status has not saved you. In fact, the worst disservice that you have done him in his young life is leading him to believe that it will, thus starting to build this false armor around him."

Dumbledore shifted on the stool. "You see, all prejudice is rooted in fear, Lucius. You represent the old guard of pureblood supremacy and you see it slipping away, as more and more pureblood lines fail. Prewett, Black, Crouch, Gaunt, Rosier...all gone like dust on the wind, and those are just the recent ones. But in spite of this, you think if you just show enough ruthlessness and generate enough fear, somehow you'll turn the clock back. You're a relic of a bygone era and your time is done; this is the truth that frightens you, and yet perhaps that secret part of you is beginning to accept it, otherwise why would you invest portions of the Malfoy fortune in Muggle business as well as magical?" 

Lucius looked affronted. "I would never--"

Dumbledore cut him off. "I told you not to bother lying to me," he said. "You did it because it was savvy, and it has been quite lucrative for you, effectively doubling what you invested twenty years ago. Your pragmatism has served your family well, far better than had you actually maintained your purported beliefs and left the Muggles to their own affairs. You must have realized that if you did not take that unpalatable step, your family would risk moldering in genteel poverty, like the noble and ancient Black family was already doing. However, I'm sure it must have been a bitter potion to swallow."

Lucius sighed. "I can't slip anything by you, can I?" he asked.

Dumbledore smiled. "No," he said. "No, you can't. But, because you won't admit that your beliefs and decisions have brought you to this pivotal moment in life, this rock bottom that you seem to have hit, I'll appeal to that pragmatic side of you. This is the side that invested hundreds of thousands of Galleons in the rising stars of Muggle enterprises, pharmaceutical companies, telecommunications companies, technology companies: put another way, very clever Muggle magic. This is also the side of you that called upon the Minister of Magic this evening, rather than retreating quietly to your cell." He sat back. "Actually, I've been talking quite a bit, an unfortunate old teacher's habit. Perhaps the time has come for you to tell me why you chose this night to ask for our help, what you're expecting, what you want, and what you are willing to do to get it."

The doctor was most of the way through the second laceration, working with the absorbable suture deep in the laceration. Lucius narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore. "Fine," he said. "I called Scrimgeour because my position as it stands is no longer sustainable. Being a Death Eater has ceased to be the best way to safeguard my own safety, nor can it ensure the safety of my family any more. There, does that satisfy you?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Partially, but it's not quite enough," he said. "Why is your situation no longer sustainable?"

"Because the Dark Lord turned on me," Lucius answered bitterly.

"At least you're now admitting the truth of the situation to both of us, but I think you can do better than that, Lucius," Dumbledore said. "Is that the only reason?"

"I don't suffer betrayal lightly, Dumbledore," Lucius said.

"And yet you didn't think twice about betraying Chorley," Dumbledore pointed out.

Lucius glared at Dumbledore. "I told him to stay out of it," he said. "Do you really think I wanted him killed? Dolohov told me I had a choice, but it wasn't really a choice, was it? Had I gallantly advocated for Chorley's life, I would have ruined any chance in the future of playing the double agent, which is, by the way, the chief condition of an early release from Azkaban, according to Scrimgeour. Also, believe me when I tell you my intervention on Chorley's behalf wouldn't have made the smallest difference to the end result. I know Dolohov. He would have listened to my impassioned plea to spare Chorley's life, and then he would have smiled, and cut him ear to ear anyway. In the end, I would have showed my hand to no avail. I expressly told Chorley not to get involved." 

"He wanted to save you because he cared about you," Dumbledore said. 

"Then the more fool he. Never, not even once, did I ask for his help in dealing with the Death Eaters," Lucius said. He and Dumbledore were both silent for a moment. Lucius broke it first. "What was he even doing here in the first place?"

"You sound angry, Lucius," Dumbledore said. He had folded his hands in his lap and was now looking down at them.

"I am angry. Azkaban is no place for a Muggle. It wasn't any betrayal on my part that killed him; it was negligence, oversight, and apathy on the part of the Ministry. Chorley always said he would die in Azkaban. He knew he had been forgotten and not even the most bleeding-heart members of the Ministry, the Wizengamot, or the magical community at large could be bothered to follow up on him. In fact, they regarded his life as so insignificant that they intentionally roomed me, alleged Death Eater and Muggle killer, with him. Stan Shunpike knew by reputation that I could kill Chorley without a second thought, but he did it anyway, with no consideration of the consequences other than to punish and humiliate me, forget what might happen to Chorley. As it happens, I chose not to kill him, but he still died for absolutely no reason whatsoever." 

"I'd say he died for a very good reason: he put himself in harm's way to keep you out of it," Dumbledore countered.

"I never wanted him to martyr himself on my behalf," Lucius said, his voice rising. Hermione could see his fists had clenched, but she doubted that it was because of anything the doctor was doing. 

"But surely you didn't want Avery to--"

"No, of course not, but it would have been but a moment in time, excruciating, degrading, and vile perhaps, but eventually surmountable, like any other trauma that I've endured in the course of my life. What happened to Chorley is irreversible." Lucius' voice had dropped to nearly a whisper with the last statement.

"Why do you care so much about the fate of a Muggle, Lucius?" Dumbledore now looked at him. 

"Because he was my--" Lucius cut off. "Cell mate." 

"Your cell mate? That's the coward's way out. I think you know that you owe him more than that," Dumbledore said. 

"Friend," Lucius said quietly. 

"Your friend," Dumbledore said, his voice softening. "A Muggle, who couldn't be more different from you, and yet had the grace and the heart to take a blade for you and stand against the people you most closely resembled and would call your kin. On some level, Chorley loved you, Lucius, and I think another lie you're telling yourself now is that you didn't love him back. If that doesn't shake your belief system to its core, there is nothing I will be able to say to you this night or any other to change your mind, heart, or soul." Dumbledore sighed and rubbed the palm of his hand with the fingers of his other hand. "Voldemort has never really understood you, Lucius," he said.

"What, and you think you do?" Lucius said it scornfully, but it was obvious to Hermione from the pain in his eyes that his heart wasn't in it.

"Although you've spent your adult life trying to suppress it after your father did it for you during your childhood, what Voldemort doesn't understand about you is that you have tremendous capacity to love and be loved."

"Death Eaters don't love, Dumbledore," Lucius said. "We can't afford it."

Dumbledore looked at him and smiled. "You're a Malfoy; you can afford anything." 

Lucius sighed. "Love makes people vulnerable, Dumbledore. Vulnerable people are weak people and weak people have no business in Voldemort's employ."

If anything, Dumbledore's smile widened. "Five points to Slytherin, Lucius. You've illustrated my point perfectly. Or, almost perfectly. Love can also endow people with tremendous strength. If you don't believe me, consider how your cell mate died." He turned serious. "Now, do you still believe you don't need my help?"

Lucius paused as understanding settled in his eyes for just a moment before he put the wall back up. "Are you going to make me say it?" he said tightly.

"I think it would be appropriate," Dumbledore said. Hermione could see the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth.

"I would like your help," Lucius said. "Although I hate the idea of owing you." 

"That's a pity, Lucius, as my help is not unconditional. You will owe me a great deal."

"What must I do?" Lucius asked, his voice flat.

"First, as Scrimgeour said, you must renounce Voldemort and your status as a Death Eater. Second, you can no longer move against any Muggle protection legislation, be it explicit or implicit; I think it's safe to say Chorley's sacrifice has stripped you of that right. Third, you must strike the word 'Mudblood' from your vocabulary, as well as the phrase 'Blood Traitor,' or anything that suggests pureblood supremacy. From this moment, you're finished with that entire dogma. 

"Fourth, and this will be the most difficult: you have to get Draco out of danger by any means necessary. You don't know this because you've been in here, but Voldemort has already been making strong attempts at recruiting him. It's only a matter of time before he forces an initiation, and then Draco will be in an inordinate amount of danger and will be heading down the exact same path that you yourself have walked, to your own destruction. You must get him as far away as possible, preferably out of the country. I will help you in any capacity I can, even if it means expelling him from Hogwarts."

"It wasn't for lack of trying, I'll have you know," Lucius said. "I knew it was coming before I was ever incarcerated and I warned Narcissa, but she refused to listen." He sighed once more. "Is that all?" 

"Not quite. Scrimgeour has his own demands, as he may have detailed to you, which is where I come in; all three of us have agreed that none of this will work unless you are confident in Occlumency. When the time comes for instruction, you must heed everything I say, regardless of how uncomfortable it may make you. Inevitably, I will dredge things out of your mind that you have buried deep down, that you never wanted to remember ever again, much less share them with a solitary soul, particularly mine. If my memory serves, this is why you could not learn Occlumency in the past. However, this openness is necessary, or I have no hope of teaching you successfully. For my part, I promise never to judge what I see, but as a matter of course, I will see it. Put simply, you must make yourself vulnerable whenever it is required, as strength can come only out of vulnerability: such is true in Occlumency, as in life. You must agree to this."

Lucius nodded. "Very well, I agree to your conditions. Are we done?" The doctor had finished the second laceration and was moving quickly through the third with the plastic skin stapler; with Avery distracted, he had not cut as deeply as his fellows had. The staples that already perforated Lucius' skin caught the bright operating room light as he breathed. 

Dumbledore smiled a small smile. "Not entirely, Lucius. I'm afraid your word holds very little weight with me. Therefore, if you are truly ready to learn Occlumency with me as your teacher, you will have to perform an act of good faith, or I will not be able to help you."

"What would you have me do now?" 

"Tell me how and why your mother died." Dumbledore said it with complete neutrality, neither empathetic nor mocking. 

"I really don't see how this is going to help either of us," Lucius replied. "Besides, it's a matter of public record." 

"That's not the point, Lucius. We could go around and around all night, but we cannot proceed until you say the words out loud, to me, right now."

Lucius sighed. "She died in childbirth," he said.

"Whose?"

"Mine." Hermione's heart dropped at this revelation.

"Why?"

"She bled to death."

"Why?" Dumbledore was unrelenting. 

Lucius did not answer him. He had closed his eyes, as if trying to block Dumbledore out. 

Dumbledore leaned in. "I know this is difficult, Lucius, but I also know that you're strong enough, and this is nothing compared to how learning Occlumency is going to feel. You know the truth and if you can't tell me, you're never going to be able to withstand--" 

Lucius' eyes snapped open again. "I killed her," he said. "Is that what you want to hear? My very first act as a human being was murder, which is perhaps why it comes so naturally to me."

Dumbledore shook his head. "That's your father speaking. He had you convinced from childhood that it was your fault, but it wasn't; surely you must know that by now."

"Really? Then whose fault was it?"

"Whose indeed? Think about it." Dumbledore waited. 

Lucius sighed once again. He didn't speak for a few seconds as if working up the courage. "The generations of wizards before me who would not let Muggles or Muggle-borns into the family. The wizards who, as the pool of purebloods dwindled, had fewer and fewer people with whom to mix their blood. The same wizards who ensured through fastidious breeding that the bleeding disorder that my mother had was expressed in more and more members of each generation, until it killed her while birthing me." His voice was the most defeated Hermione had ever heard. " _Sanctimonia vincet semper_." 

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "Purity always conquers." They both fell silent. This time Dumbledore broke it first. "Thank you, Lucius. I am prouder of you than I've ever been. Now we can proceed. Scrimgeour's idea is to have you re-instated on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, which will give you an excuse to come to Hogwarts frequently, at which time, we can conduct our lessons. For the time being, we shall have to commence them right here in Azkaban, as time is not our friend in this matter." 

"Here? You and Scrimgeour would let me cast magic while still in prison?" Lucius' voice sounded hopeful for the first time that Hermione had heard throughout the entirety of his Azkaban memories.

"Once again, not without conditions," Dumbledore said. "You would only be able to do it here in the infirmary, and would have to agree not to engage in any destructive magic. In other words, you can't kill anyone." 

Lucius sighed in annoyance. "I wouldn't do that," he said.

"Stan Shunpike might say differently," Dumbledore said. 

"Stan Shunpike is as corrupt as he is vicious," Lucius said. "He's the one who allowed the entire episode in the bathroom to happen; in fact, he was complicit."

"I wasn't there," Dumbledore said, holding up his hands. 

"But you know about everything that happened with Chorley? It seems your omniscience is fairly selective." 

"I'm not here to address what happened with Stan Shunpike. I'm merely here to instruct you, which will involve you having a wand. As you must realize now better than most wizards is that a wand is a tremendous gift as well as responsibility, which you may not abuse, even to carry out what you might perceive as righteous retribution. Do you agree?"

"Fine," Lucius snapped. 

"Additionally, you may not use your wand to heal what this good doctor just spent two hours repairing."

Lucius fumed. "I could heal it in seconds," he said.

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, you may have missed your calling as a Healer, no one is denying your skill in this area. But you will have wasted the doctor's time, so to undo all of that hard work would be both ungrateful and disrespectful."

"Without magic, it's going to leave a horrific scar."

Dumbledore nodded. "Three horrific scars, to be exact. Think of it as a symbol of atonement for your many transgressions and an era of hatred that will end with you. You must agree to this stipulation, or you will not have a chance to use your wand until after the staples come out, when it's too late anyway. Although, I should point out that this would be a simple and yet ideal opportunity once again to prove your good faith. The choice is yours." 

Lucius thought for a moment. Hermione knew it wasn't even a question; the stakes were too low. "Very well, I agree," Lucius finally said. 

"Excellent." Dumbledore stood up and walked to the door. He opened it and called for the guards. "Fetch Mr. Malfoy's wand," he said. 

"Are you mad?" Stan's voice.

"Not at this moment," Dumbledore answered calmly. "He's agreed not to use it in an abusive manner. Besides, I'm reasonably confident I could take him in a duel, particularly as he is injured and hasn't used magic in well over a year."

"659 days," Lucius called from the table. 

"Please fetch his wand, if you would be so kind."

Stan Shunpike swore. Lucius smiled. Dumbledore came back and sat down. "You're going to find this difficult to believe, but this deprivation will actually make you happier and more grateful. You'll appreciate magic in a way that you never thought possible, which will likely make you a better wizard. In fact, you'll appreciate many things all the more for having been without them." 

Dumbledore put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "Now, in Occlumency, it's not just about clearing your mind, but in putting a different reality in it, a reality so clear that even you believe it. This should come to you fairly easily because you're already famous for lying, sad to say, but in being an effective liar, you're already good at constructing another plausible reality for others to accept. And because you do it confidently, people accept it at face value." 

"Everyone's good at something," Lucius said.

"It's not a compliment, just an observation," Dumbledore replied. "Lying has a tendency to drive a wedge between people, keeping them distanced, and making it one of the most effective defense mechanisms. Occlumency just extends that idea into an even more extreme version."

The door opened and Stan came in. He crossed the room and held up Lucius' wand. Lucius' drew in a sharp breath at the sight of it. He closed and opened his hands over and over, and Hermione realized they were veritably itching with the desire to take his wand back. Dumbledore held out his hand. "I'll hold onto that for the time being," he said. Stan's eyes flicked to Lucius and then back to Dumbledore. He put it into Dumbledore's hand. "And I'll need you to remove his ankle cuff," Dumbledore added.

Stan glared at him. "He'll kill you, mark my words," he said.

"Oh, I very much doubt that," Dumbledore said. "Besides, I'm willing to take my chances."

"Yeah? What about them Muggles?" Stan jerked his head in the direction of the doctor and the nurse. 

"We'll wait until they finish and exit before I hand this over to Mr. Malfoy if that would soothe you," Dumbledore said. "But I cannot work with him if he is contaminated with Dementor's Diamonds." 

Grumbling, Stan took out his giant ring of keys. He approached the foot of the table with trepidation and slowly undid the ankle bracelet. As he moved away, the cuff in his hand, Hermione could see a change coming over Lucius. The tension fell away from him and his face softened as if time was running backwards. 

Dumbledore waited patiently for the doctor to put in the final staples, 10 left, and then nine, then eight, all the way down to the last one. The doctor put the stapler down on an increasingly large pile of them, took off his gloves, and shook out his hands. He looked at Lucius, who had turned his face to him. 

"Thank you," Lucius said to him. 

The doctor half-smiled and nodded at him. The doctor started cleaning up, putting needles, syringes, and used staplers in the sharps container as the nurse took wet washcloths and cleaned all the dried blood and iodine off of Lucius' back. Once she had finished, Lucius carefully sat up. The nurse wrapped the new repairs in gauze and elastic bandages, to keep the staples from pulling or catching on anything. She fetched a new prison top and handed it to Lucius. She gestured to him to do it head first, as it would now be difficult to lift his hands over his head. 

Once he was dressed, and the workstation was clean, the two Muggles departed. There was a moment of pregnant silence as Lucius and Dumbledore looked at each other. Then, Dumbledore handed Lucius his wand. Lucius took it from him slowly and held it up, looking at it in wonder. The only other time Hermione had seen an unguarded, genuine smile from him was after the second time they had been together intimately. 

"We'll start simply," Dumbledore said, "You haven't cast magic in quite a while." He took his deluminator from a pocket and flicked it open. The operating room light and the other lights on the walls flew into the device one at a time, plunging the room into darkness. "I believe you know what to do," he said, and Hermione could hear the smile in his voice.

" _Lumos,_ " Lucius said. The tip of his wand immediately ignited, putting both of their faces in sharp relief. 

Dumbledore flicked the deluminator again and the lights flew back to their places. 

" _Nox,_ " Lucius said. His wand went dark. Hermione could see his breathing speeding up, could tell that he was restless to cast more. She couldn't blame him, couldn't conceive of going that long without magic. Dumbledore had made a good point; now that she had been casting for this many years, the thought of not being able to do it was intolerable to her; how much worse would it have been for Lucius, who had been casting for far longer. 

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Now, let's get to work."


	20. 57: Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes a bold decision regarding Lucius. Lucius punishes Hermione for her invasive act of thievery. 
> 
> _Now it was Lucius' turn to take out his wand and point it at her. "Thus far, you have enjoyed a tremendous amount of freedom in our relationship, more so than I would ever wish you to have, as this freedom has cost me dearly. However, it is now joyfully in my power to take some of that freedom away from you. Now, because you have already transgressed in stealing from me, the first freedom you're going to lose is your hands, seeing as you can't seem to keep them to yourself." Hermione knew what was coming before he even said it._ "Incarcerous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Don't try this at home, dear readers, unless you really know what you're doing; this is some NEWT-level sex. Also, this chapter and everything preceding it represents every word of content that I've written, so everything from here on in will be new, i.e., it will take longer to get to the internet. My goal is to finish this work in two more chapters, maaaaaybe three depending; hopefully not more than that. Thank you too for all the great comments for the last two chapters and thank you for reading my story and bearing with it for this long.

CHAPTER 57: PUNISHMENT

Inky, black smoke rolled in and Hermione felt herself being pulled backwards. She felt relief mixed with disappointment. She had no idea how long she had been in the Pensieve, but she had gone through at least a dozen memories, maybe more, spanning well over a year and a half of Lucius' life. It explained a lot, and Hermione's mind reeled with the scale of what she had seen. As she had suspected when she had come across Ginny's secret file, everything she thought she knew about Lucius was wrong. It meant also that every encounter that they had had and at least half of what Lucius had said to her meant something different than she had thought. However, she felt disappointed because there were still so many unanswered questions, most of which she doubted Lucius would answer. 

Hermione's vision lightened as the smoke cleared. Once again, she fell back in Lucius' office chair, vaguely disoriented. Lucius had pulled another chair up to the desk and was sitting opposite her. All the broken glass and torn labels had been cleaned up and he had apparently been filling new vials and making out new labels to replace the ones he had destroyed. He was on his last one. A neat row of ampules now lay anew in the drawer, even the red one. 

"What time is it?" Hermione asked hoarsely. 

Lucius put the quill down, carefully applied the label to the last vial, glanced at the clock which faced him, and then looked at her. "3:30 am," he answered. 

"I was down for two hours?"

"Approximately," Lucius answered. "Did it feel longer or shorter?" He sounded strangely subdued and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he regretted his impulsive, anger-driven decision to reveal all of his Azkaban history to her. One way or another, the decision changed their relationship, but it was too soon for Hermione to tell what the exact implications of that were.

Hermione rubbed her eyes with one hand. "Longer, a lot longer," she answered.

"Imagine how it must have felt for me," Lucius said. 

Hermione opened her eyes. She was having a difficult time forming either thoughts or words. She felt overloaded with Lucius' pain, his experiences, and his memories to have any room even for her own reactions to them. She wasn't sure anyone was supposed to spend that long in a Pensieve, despite what Lucius-Trust-Me-I-Have-Loads-Of-Healing-Magic-Malfoy may have had her believe. It was almost as if she couldn't tell her thoughts and memories apart from his or determine whether things had happened to her or to him. Her neck was extremely stiff as well and she slowly rolled her head around while rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. 

"You should sleep," Lucius said. He stood and came around the desk to her. She too stood and faced him. 

"I doubt that I could," Hermione said, although the idea was greatly appealing.

"I could help, if you would trust me to," Lucius said, his voice uncharacteristically devoid of sarcasm.

Hermione hesitated. Despite what he had said prior to her going into the Pensieve, Lucius had trusted her enough to let her see all that, and besides, she was exhausted. "All right," she finally replied.

Lucius took his wand from the desk and pointed it at her. " _Imperio,_ " he said. Hermione felt the familiar, narcotic feeling of well-being sink over her. "Sleep," Lucius said softly. Everything went dark. 

When Hermione awoke, after a mercifully dreamless sleep, light was creeping into the room from the great windows. She was still in Lucius' office, under a blanket on one of the couches; he must have put her there after effectively knocking her out. She frowned. She hadn't thought the Imperius Curse worked like that, but then again, Lucius was notoriously good at it, in addition to having healing training. Curious. She made a mental note to ask him about it later. Hermione did feel lighter than she had earlier. Lucius' memories still swam in her head, but they didn't weigh her down like they had right after she had come out of the Pensieve and at least now she could differentiate between his and hers. 

Nonetheless, she needed to talk to Lucius. Hermione stood up, shrugged off the blanket and looked towards the desk. Its surface was almost completely clear: no more makeshift Pensieve, no more quills, no more labels; even the clock was gone. The only things on it were Hermione's wand, the drawer of memories and a full glass of water. Hermione half-smiled, remembering the aftermath of the Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT involving a full glass of water. Either it was a reference to that, or else Lucius had thought she would be thirsty, which she was. She crossed to the desk and drained the glass before setting it down. 

Hermione then walked over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun had not actually risen yet, so the light coming in was bright red with the winter dawn. Her view from the window was the formal garden with its statuary, neat topiary of yew, and conical arborvitae. A low mist hung in the garden as well, and between that and the red light, the entire scene had a surreality about it and was a study in contrasting black and white, all awash with crimson. 

"I used to hate it, you know." Hermione turned at the sound of Lucius' voice. He was the quietest person she had ever met and she didn't know if his silent entrances were achieved through magic, stealth, or perhaps both. He stood at the entrance to the office and as she turned to look at him, he shut the door behind him. He walked towards her, his eyes on the window and the garden beyond. "The formal garden," he explained. "When I was younger, I hated the rigidity of it, the constraint...but as I got older, I realized that there was a certain beauty in the order of it, in the discipline, the tranquility of every single tree in line, everything symmetrical. In looking at it, one can imagine, if only for a moment, that one has achieved mastery over nature itself. Thus, I suppose you might say it represents control, in a world in which you have so little, and in fact so much less, than you think you do." 

Hermione looked back to the garden. "And do you have it now?" she asked quietly.

"Frightfully little, I'm afraid," Lucius answered, and as he had with Dumbledore, it was as if he was letting just a bit of truth out, almost involuntarily. 

She turned to him. "And where I'm concerned?" she asked. 

"Virtually none," Lucius said. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing lightly over her face. "Which is why I need to ask you to leave." His voice was gentle, but firm. 

"I don't hate you for what I saw in the Pensieve," Hermione said, looking up into his face, "quite the opposite, actually."

"But I do hate you a bit for seeing it," Lucius countered. 

Hermione felt the familiar hot anger welling up inside her that she so often felt when dealing with Lucius. "Really?" she snapped. "I saw it because you made me see it. In fact, you threatened me with the Imperius Curse if I didn't. Remember?" Lucius turned away from her and went over to the desk. Hermione followed him. "You were the one who had a choice," she said, her voice rising. "Why show me all of that? What was the point?" 

"Believe me, I've been asking myself the same question all night," he answered. 

"More specifically, why push me into it, just to push me out right afterwards?"

"Because I made a mistake in showing you," Lucius said. He had both his hands on the desk, fingers splayed, and Hermione could see the tension in his shoulders, muscles tight under the damaged flesh. "I'm admitting fault, Hermione; that's how serious this is." 

Hermione rolled her eyes behind his back. _Merlin, what an ego_ , she thought. She took a deep breath and bit back a sharp retort about how fragile a flower he was; actually, she would have to play this one very carefully. "How strange that the one time you admit fault is the one time you actually did something right," she said, coming up behind him and running her hands up his back, over the scars and placing them on his shoulders. "You showed me this because you wanted to, _had_ to, share it with someone and after witnessing it, who could possibly blame you? It was the most important thing you've done so far in our relationship." 

"You think so, do you, in your infinite wisdom and experience?" Lucius asked, his voice hard. "You went from knowing too much to knowing almost everything." He looked away from the desk, towards the windows once again. "And now I need to think about what to do about it. So, you need to leave at once." 

Hermione could feel him slipping away and now that he had finally let down the wall, albeit violently, she didn't want to let him put it back up, nor would she simply go away because he told her to. This was way too important. She brushed Lucius' hair away from his ear and stood on tiptoes, moving closer. "You shouldn't banish me," she said quietly, an idea already clear and solid in her mind, her one and only card to play. 

"No? What would you have me do?" 

"I would have you punish me," she whispered, letting her lips barely touch his ear. She moved away letting her suggestion permeate his fraught mind.

Lucius looked back at her quickly; that had gotten his attention. He turned towards her and she moved her hands to his shoulders once again, this time from the front. Hermione could see the idea take hold of him and start a war with the idea of making her leave so he could make sense of the situation and regroup. The battle played out in his eyes. It was good; she could work with conflict, both explicit and implicit; in fact, it was their most familiar medium. 

Hermione took it and ran with it. "You'd like that control back and you know it; that's what you think you're going to have if you force me out, but it's simply not true. However, if you still believe it is true once you're finished bending me to your will, banish me then, if you still wish to. It's not as if you have anything to lose." She smiled, drawing him in like a fish on the end of a line. "You know I don't always do what I'm told. After all, I'm the one who broke into your memory in the first place. If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened. There should be no doubt in your mind as to what I deserve." She moved her hands down over his chest, where the serpents started. "Make me pay," she finished, lowering her eyes demurely. "I'm asking to submit to you."

Lucius ran his hands over hers. "Are you quite certain that this is what you want?" he asked slowly. "You must be completely truthful about this."

Hermione looked up once again, meeting his eyes. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she said, surprised into honesty. 

Lucius looked tempted for just a moment, before his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry Hermione, but I just can't trust you enough, given what happened last night in conjunction with the vow."

Hermione felt her shoulders fall in defeat as well. She couldn't let this go; she couldn't let him go, not at this critical point in their relationship. She squared her shoulders, reached around him, and grabbed her wand. "Give me your hand," she said, lips in a tight line as she extended her own left hand to him.

Lucius eyes met hers, immediately comprehending what she had in mind. "No," he said. "Absolutely not."

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes but would not let them fall. She took a deep breath, willing her voice not to shake. "I'll Imperius curse you if I have to, but that would reveal an intolerable spinelessness on your part, and you a former Death Eater." 

Lucius looked at her outstretched hand, indecision still on his face.

"There's no Prima Nocte on there, if that's your worry," Hermione said. "See?" She licked her palm.

The corners of Lucius' mouth twitched. "Oh, very mature, Miss Granger." 

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Just give me your hand. Please." 

Lucius turned serious again. Tentatively, he reached his left hand to her. Hermione grasped his wrist and felt him grasp hers in turn. " _Specialis Revelio,_ " she said. The red and white interlacing lines manifested like coiled serpents around their interlocked hands. She took a deep breath. "I, Hermione Granger, of my own free will, do hereby release my Unbreakable Vow on Lucius Malfoy." As she spoke, the white line retreated, unwinding coil by coil and disappearing into Hermione's wand tip. "I do swear that Lucius is no longer beholden in this vow to me; may the earth swallow me whole if I do not do this in full faith." The final tail of the white line disappeared into her wand tip. Hermione moved her wand away and the red line faded. They let each other go.

"There. Was that so hard?" Hermione asked, setting her wand back on the edge of the desk. She knew better than even to think about asking Lucius to do the same after what she had done the previous night. "Now, where were we?" She smiled and moved back towards Lucius, once again, running her hands up his chest to his shoulders. 

"Do you remember your safe word?" he asked. Hermione could already see the rapid movement of the serpents on Lucius' chest as his breathing sped up and took it as a good sign.

"I do. It's _Gryffindor._ "

"Of course it is." Lucius' hands closed over her wrists, his thumbs on her palms. "Because you're just...so... _brave,_ aren't you?" His grip tightened. Hermione's heart turned over; for the second time in her life she would subject herself to his mercy with no restraints on his behavior and see where it took her, but for the first time ever, she trusted him totally. 

"I like to think so," she murmured, looking down. 

"Quiet," he snapped. "I never said you could speak." 

"But you asked me a question."

Lucius put both of her wrists deftly into one hand placed his other hand under her jaw so he could tilt her face up to his. "And you simply must answer any question posed to you, or to anyone else for that matter; you can't seem to help yourself, can you? Oh, don't worry," he dropped his voice to a whisper and moved her head to the side so he could speak directly in her ear. All the hair on the back of Hermione's neck went up. "I can train that insolence right out of you, in addition to teaching you the difference between a question that's rhetorical, and one I genuinely want you to answer." 

Lucius dropped his hand and came away from her ear. Now it was Lucius' turn to take out his wand and point it at her. "Thus far, you have enjoyed a tremendous amount of freedom in our relationship, more so than I would ever wish you to have, as this freedom has cost me dearly. However, it is now joyfully in my power to take some of that freedom away from you. Now, because you have already transgressed in stealing from me, the first freedom you're going to lose is your hands, seeing as you can't seem to keep them to yourself." Hermione knew what was coming before he even said it. _"Incarcerous."_ In an instant, her wrists were bound with rope from the spell, with two trailing ends. Lucius took the trailing ends in one hand and walked her over to the desk. Hermione wasn't sure what he had in mind and the anticipation heightened her anxiety, which Hermione suspected was the point. 

He stopped with her a few feet from the desk. "Get down on your knees," Lucius said, dropping the rope. Hermione responded quickly, dropping down to her knees and sitting on her heels. "Wait here," he said. "And don't even think of watching what I'm doing." Hermione said nothing, just stared at the carpet. Lucius walked around the desk and Hermione could hear him move the drawer across the top. As soon as he did, Hermione could see a glow in her peripheral vision, and she heard the faint clink of glass as Lucius took out memory after memory. Hermione risked a glance up. Lucius was lining them up on the desk, much more gently than he had the previous night, but still with efficiency. He looked back at her quickly, catching her. Hermione swore to herself; Lucius was right: she really couldn't get away with anything. Her eyes snapped quickly back to the carpet, but it was too late. Lucius said nothing, just finished, came back around the desk and stood in front of her. 

"I thought I told you not to watch me," Lucius said. 

"Sorry," Hermione said quickly, her eyes still on the Oriental carpet just in front of his feet.

"Sorry, what?"

"Sorry, sir."

"Perhaps you are or perhaps, like last night, you're just sorry that I caught you, but whatever the case may be, you're not nearly as sorry as you're going to be. That one is definitely going to cost you. Stand up." Hermione did so. Once again, Lucius led her over to the desk by her bonds. 

"Do you know what those are?" he asked about the neat line of memories he had made on the desk. He moved behind her and ran his hands over her shoulders, then down the front, his fingers running in a line along her collarbones. 

"Yes," she said.

"Yes what?" Lucius asked. He ran his hand over the front of her throat and tilted her head slightly before kissing her neck.

"Yes, sir," she answered. Hermione found that she couldn't move, brought up short by the pressure of his hand on her throat. His other hand had traveled down her back and over the curve of her rear end. 

"That's better," he said as he let his fingers tease between her buttocks. "What are they?"

"Memories, sir," she said. She kept her answers very short. 

"That's correct. Azkaban memories, _my_ Azkaban memories, or to put it even more accurately, the Azkaban memories that you experienced last night, including the one that you stole from me." 

Hermione looked at them, reflecting how innocuous they looked in their neat vials, a strong contrast to what was actually in them. 

"Count them," Lucius commanded. He kept one hand on her throat, but tilted her head down so she could see the desk, and moved the other around to the front of her body. "Count each and every one." 

Hermione started counting in her head. There were quite a few, more even than she had originally thought. 

"Out loud."

"One, two, three..." Hermione's voice shook, but she took no pains to control it; let Lucius think she was scared; as he had said in their very first time together, her fear increased his desire, which she could feel pressing into her back and rear. Between that and the slightly ominous pressure of his hand on her throat, she found she barely had to act, and the idea that she was completely under his power made her desire for him respond in kind. As she counted, he moved one hand up her thigh, without actually touching her sex and kissed her neck and her ear. "Twenty-one, twenty-two," she finally finished. 

"Twenty-two," Lucius repeated. "I want you to remember that number." 

Hermione knew better than to ask him why. He would certainly punish her for doing so and she would find out soon enough. Leaving the memories in their neat line, Lucius dropped both hands, took her by the trailing ropes that hung from her wrists once again and led her over to the couch where she had slept. "Lie down," he said. She complied, lying on her back. He took her bound hands and put them over her head. He flicked his wand at the couch and now her bound wrist stuck to it, the rope magically weaving into the soft velour of the couch, so she had a little slack, but not much. She certainly couldn't bring her hands down. She pulled experimentally, just to see. 

"I wouldn't bother; there's no escape," Lucius said, standing over her. "You're completely vulnerable, just how I like you best." He looked at her, slowly, from head to toe. Hermione felt the same stirring between her thighs, that yearning to be touched. She still was only wearing the fitted periwinkle camisole and white underwear, which, while not specifically sexy, left little to the imagination and would certainly reveal her body's betrayal in due course. Even as his gaze weighed heavy on her, and she imagined what he would do to her and how it would feel, she felt her nipples harden, lifting the knit cotton. This subtle reaction was not lost on Lucius. 

Hermione's face heated up as his eyes traveled back to her chest. Lucius smiled. "Are you cold again this time, or conversely, has what I've done so far inflamed you in some way?" Lucius asked. Hermione turned her head away, not saying a word; she squirmed, obviously unable to hide. "Look at me," Lucius said. Hermione turned her head back to him, heat rising to her cheeks. Lucius sat on the couch next to her and maintained her gaze, raising an eyebrow. Hermione cursed inwardly. The question was not rhetorical this time; he was waiting for an answer and he would get one out of her by any means necessary. 

"Yes, sir," she said. "The latter." 

"What were you thinking about that created such a reaction?" His hand was on her thigh again. 

"What you were going to do to me..." Hemione said.

"Indeed? And what was I doing?"

"Touching me," Hermione answered.

"Touching you...where?"

Hermione licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. "My breasts...between my legs," she whispered.

Lucius had put his wand away and now he ran his hands up her sides and then up her ribcage. Hermione felt her breathing speed up.

"Anything else?"

She moved against his hands, but he drew them away, teasing her. 

"I said, anything else?"

"I was thinking about you putting your cock in me..." she said.

LUcius raised an eyebrow. He ran his fingers down her sternum and her belly, but stopped short of her underwear. "Do you really think you deserve the privilege of my cock in you?"

"No, sir," Hermione said. 

"That's right," he breathed. "You don't. But would you like me to touch you?" Lucius brought his hands up the sides of her breasts, still not touching her nipples. He drew his fingers lightly over her collarbones and then down her sternum again, and then back to their starting position, making a circle. 

"Yes," she answered, her voice coming out in a moan.

"Yes, what?" he asked. His thumbs slid up the sides of both breasts and edged closer to her nipples and she arched her back, waiting. 

"Yes please," she said. 

Lucius half-smiled. "Yes please, what?" he said. 

"Yes please, sir," she said. 

"And would you like to watch what I do to your body?" 

"Yes, sir." 

Lucius cocked his head to the side. "Well, that's a pity, because you failed to obey my command not to watch what I was doing with the memories, so because you can't follow my very simple instructions, the second freedom you will lose is your sight." Hermione sighed. She was hoping he had forgotten that, but of course he hadn't. Lucius Malfoy forgot nothing. He walked back over to his desk and found an emerald green velvet scarf. He walked back over to her, and the last thing she saw was his cold eyes triumphant before he gently tied it around her head, blindfolding her. 

Hermione could feel Lucius sit back down on the couch next to her. He moved his hands back to their original position. He rubbed both thumbs over her nipples at the same time through her shirt and Hermione moaned, moving her body against his hands. Hermione felt heat build between her legs as the thin layer of cotton felt like an injustice, an unfair barrier between her and her pleasure. 

"Do you want me to move your shirt out of the way?" Lucius asked, as if reading her mind. He pulled the top of her shirt down a mere inch. 

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered.

"Why?" 

Hermione hesitated. Lucius was going to make a meal out of it by having her ask for absolutely everything. He then ran his tongue over her nipple through her shirt, making her gasp. "Don't keep me waiting," he warned. 

"I want you to see my breasts," she answered quickly. 

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Anything else?" He pushed her shirt up over her rib cage, now working from the bottom, intent on keeping her guessing. 

"I want your hands and your mouth on them..." 

Lucius pulled her shirt up the rest of the way. "That's greedy of you," he said. "I'll touch you, because it's what _I_ want to do..." He ran his hands over her breasts, rubbing her nipples again. This time he used both index fingers to massage their sensitive pink points as Hermione breathed quickly in and out through her nose. "As for the rest, well, you'll just have to learn patience." He took his hands away suddenly and she groaned in disappointment. 

"Don't stop," she said before she could stop herself. 

Lucius stopped moving completely. "What did you just say to me?" he asked, his voice icy.

"Nothing," Hermione answered quickly. 

"Trying to control me in this situation, and then lying about it?" Lucius said. "That was foolish." Without ceremony, he pulled her shirt back down again. Hermione's position on the couch shifted as she felt him stand up. "Turn over," he said. 

It was tough with her wrists bound to the couch, but Hermoine found that she had just enough slack to do it. Hands still bound in front of her, she lay on her stomach on the couch. "Get on your knees," Lucius said. Hermione pulled herself up so she was on her knees and her forearms. Lucius reached his hand between her legs, sliding it up her thigh. She felt her entire pelvic region tighten as he moved up her legs and finally stopped with his hand cupped around her sex. Everything down there felt warm and increasingly damp and she knew he'd be able to feel it, even through her underwear. As subtly as she could, Hermione moved against his still hand, silently begging him to finger her clit or her pussy, anything to relieve her. Unfortunately, Hermione realized that Lucius was barely getting warmed up and Merlin help her the second he found out just how badly she wanted him. She knew it would only be seconds and as soon as she had this thought, Lucius took his hand off of her to move her underwear out of the way without taking them off, exposing her shamefully wet pussy to him. _Oh well,_ she thought, _there's nothing for it now._ Hermione arched her back, spread her legs, and dropped her chest low to give him the easiest access. Lucius finally moved his fingers over her clitoris and just beneath, without putting them inside her, his touch agonizingly light. 

"We've barely started and yet you already feel as if you want to come," Lucius said, his voice mocking and surprised, as his fingers explored her damp opening, still without penetrating her. "Who knew that such perversions would excite you so? This display simply confirms that surely you _must_ believe that you deserve it, to have your wayward behavior corrected as I will it. But as it happens..." He moved his hands to her hips and slowly pulled her underwear down, revealing her rear end to the cool air of the room. Hermione licked her lips in anticipation, not letting herself dare to hope that he would stick his cock into her now and put her out of her misery.

Lucius' hand then traveled into her hair and he gripped it, tilting her head to the side. He leaned down and spoke in her ear again. "Today the responsibility for your climax happening is not mine, simply the control over when, how, and _if_ it will happen. Even now I can see that you're appallingly wet and I believe if I were to ask you, you would say that you're ready, but before I decide whether or not to grace you with my cock, or even let you orgasm at all, I want you as wet as November and as hot as July, whatever that may take. And of course, even at the peak of your desire, when your pussy is dripping and you're desperate for the release only my cock can give you, you'll still have to beg me, because I am in no mood to give you what you want. Now, do you remember that number?"

Hermione nodded. Lucius released her hair and sat back up. "Good, because once again, I want you to count. Out loud." He drew his hand back and brought it down hard on her exposed rear. It was loud in Hermione's ears and it stung, but not unbearably. She cried out. "One," she remembered to say. He drew his hand back and hit her again. "Two." Again. "Three." Again. "Four." She grimaced and breathed in through her teeth. Her rear end was starting to feel warm and tender, and the warmth was spreading to the rest of her pelvic floor. He hit her again. "Five," she said through gritted teeth. On six, she cried out again. "Please stop," she whispered.

Lucius paused with his hand above her rear. "What did you just say to me?" 

"Stop, please," Hermione said, once again her voice shaking. He brought his hand down quickly and she cried out once again, "Seven!"

"Are you trying to make me lose count?" Lucius asked, punctuating the final word with another slap. 

"Eight," she said. "No, sir." 

"Then don't interrupt me again." Another hit. 

"Nine." The hits kept coming and Hermione kept counting. At sixteen, she cried out once again. "Please stop," she begged, starting to get into playing his game. It hurt, but it also was building pressure and tension inside her that could only be relieved with one thing. She was breathing hard, not just from pain. 

"I thought I told you not to interrupt me," Lucius said. "However, because you've once again made me stop..." He brought his hand over the curve of her rear end, now extremely sensitive from countless activated pain receptors. She relaxed her hands, which had somehow tightened to fists. "Spread your legs," he ordered. "This is something I expect to be automatic, whenever you are able. Do you understand?" Hermione nodded quickly and drew her knees apart. Lucius brought his hand closer to her sex. He slipped one finger into her and Hermione moaned, pushing against him, willing him to go in all the way, to arouse her sensitive walls as only he knew how. He didn't, just pulled it out and Hermione shuddered in disappointment. 

"You're wetter than you were, but still not wet enough." Lucius paused and Hermione could only imagine that he was watching her pained expression. "Oh..." he breathed. "Did you think I was doing that to pleasure you just now? Why, it was merely an assessment, to see how you were responding to your punishment, certainly not to stimulate you. Shame on you for thinking you deserve otherwise." He put his finger against her lips. "Lick it off," he whispered. She immediately took his finger in her mouth, tasting her own cum. She sucked until he took his hand back. "Now...where were we?" Hermione closed her legs and felt his hand come back down hard on her rear end. 

"Seventeen," she said. They made it all the way to 22, and when the last hit came, Hermione let her breath out in relief. 

"Turn back over," Lucius said. Hermione did as she was bid, her rear end sensitive in a way it never had been. Lucius took her underwear off the rest of the way. As soon as they were off, Hermione spread her legs for him. "I see you _can_ be instructed..." he said softly. "Everything of yours is mine right now: your mouth, your breasts, your pussy, and perhaps most importantly, your submission to my authority over you, to say nothing of your capacity to experience both pain and pleasure. As of this moment, all of these things belong solely to me. Now, I suppose I can concede that you made it through your well-earned spanking reasonably well, so I shall give you a modest reward." 

Lucius ran his hand up her inner thigh and used his fingers on her clitoris once again, making her bite her lip and moan. He brought his other hand up to cup her breast and massage the nipple. Being blindfolded and bound multiplied the sensation from everything Lucius did. "You said before that you wanted your shirt out of the way. Remind me why that was." Lucius once again inserted a finger into her pussy, sliding in all the way and making Hermione pull in her breath.

"Because I wanted you to touch me," Hermione said, gasping. 

"Any other reason come to mind, other than the selfish ones?"

"No, sir...although I thought looking at and touching my body brought you pleasure as well."

"Ah, now you're just attempting to get on my good side. Such a shame for you that no such thing exists. As it happens, I don't need you to offer something to me that I can so readily take. With you in this state, there's hardly a part of you I can't use for my pleasure; should I choose to do so, I hardly need your permission. And now, because you've foolishly released me from my vow, there's nothing I can't do to you. You have no earthly idea how much that thrills me. But I digress." Lucius' hand came off of her breast and once again went into her hair, forcing her head to the side. "How about this one?" Lucius had now moved two fingers into her and was sliding them in and out as Hermione felt her rear end clench under his expert movements. "You don't deserve this shirt because after last night, you've lost the right to hide anything from me."

Lucius released her hair and took his other hand out from between Hermione's legs. "Well," he said, running his fingers under the thin straps of her camisole, "it's barely even a shirt, really." He pushed the straps off of her shoulders and pulled the front of her shirt down an inch at a time. Hermione felt her nipples drag deliciously over the fabric before her breasts came free from the top. "Still..." Lucius continued, "It _is_ in the way. _Flagrate._ " She felt the heat from his wand tip as he charred a line down the front of her shirt, using his other hand to pull it away from her body, being careful not to burn her. 

When he had finished, Lucius moved her ruined shirt off of her. Without seeing him, Hermione could feel him looking at her. Then it was his hands against her bare flesh once again. He started feather light, barely touching her, running the backs of his knuckles over her nipples, before touching and rolling them gently between thumb and finger. "Yes," she breathed. She wanted to take him inside of her, but knew better than to ask, as he would no doubt delay it until the last possible moment and her asking would just delay it even further. 

"At this point, I think your mouth is doing little more than getting you into trouble. However, because I am not completely devoid of mercy, I will let you keep it as a freedom if..." His tongue flicked her nipple once before pushing it back and forth and Hermione groaned with this new, exquisite sensation. "You can remain completely silent until I give you leave to do otherwise." Hermione swallowed. Sweat was starting to bead on her chest and upper lip. She knew she wouldn't be able to do it if he used his mouth on her in any capacity, and it looked like that was exactly what he planned on doing.

Lucius did not disappoint her. He started at the line of her jaw, just under her ear, then drew his tongue down the side of her neck, over her pulse point, down her collarbone, to the outside of her breast before coming underneath, up the inside, in an agonizingly slow spiral that ended at her nipple. He used his teeth lightly, and Hermione put all her effort into not making any sound, breathing in and out rapidly through her nose as he switched back to his tongue and continued in the same manner over to her other breast, alternating teeth and tongue. 

Hermione knew that her wrists were getting chafed raw from where she had tensed against them but the discomfort there served as a welcome distraction from the intense pleasure she was feeling and the herculean effort in not making sounds that came naturally to her in ecstasy. Lucius moved between her legs and she spread them further. He stroked her sex with the back of his hand for a moment before gently spreading her apart. "You're the wettest I've ever seen you," he said, "but it's still not quite enough." His finger caressed the sensitive bud of her clitoris, running over it in a circle and then sliding his finger back inside of her before tasting her. At agonizing leisure, he started moving his tongue over her clitoris back and forth and then circling, all while moving his finger in and out of her. Part of the reason that he was so good at what he did stemmed from his near-infinite patience, far more than Hermione had.

Hermione's rear end tightened once again as Lucius gradually sped up. It was more than Hermione could handle and, without meaning to, she groaned as Lucius slid his fingers along her slick pussy walls. In an instant, he stopped and she could feel him sit up. "Did I give you leave to break your silence?" he asked, drawing his fingers back out again.

Hermione didn't know how much more she could take. "No, sir," she said through clenched teeth.

Lucius sighed. "And I was so convinced that you wanted to come. I was even willing to help you." His voice was teasing. "Was I imagining things, or did you want to come?"

"I did...I mean, I do...sir...I want you to put your cock in me," she said, unable to muster any sort of eloquence. Luckily for her, it wasn't what Lucius was looking for. 

"You do, do you?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, my answer is 'no,'" Lucius said. Hermione groaned. "You're not ready yet and I'm still not convinced you deserve it. At the very least, you have to come on your own before I help you by putting my cock in you. Now, do you want to come?"

"Yes, sir." 

"Badly?"

"Very badly, sir." 

"Well then, because you want to, _very_ badly, I'm going to let you."

"Thank you, sir." 

"On one condition."

 _Of course,_ Hermione thought. She didn't say a word. 

"As I said, you have to come by pleasuring yourself."

 _That's it?_ Hermione thought, _that should be easy._

"With my cock in your mouth." 

"That's two conditions, sir," Hermione said, once again unable to stop herself. 

"And that's exactly the kind of back talk I was referring to." She felt his weight transfer and knew that he had stood up. " _Finite incantatum,_ " he said. Her hands released from the back of the couch although they remained bound. She carefully brought them down, shaking out her shoulders as she did so. She put her hand between her legs. She used one hand to spread herself apart and the other to finger her clitoris, feeling the tension increase as she massaged herself nearer to orgasm. Her fingers slipped back and forth easily; Lucius was right, she had never been so wet, and never in her life had she wanted to come so badly.

"I didn't give you permission yet," Lucius said, grabbing her wrists and pulling them back up. Hermione groaned, this time in frustration. "Nor have I heard a single word of gratitude out of your mouth for this or any other reward that I've so generously bestowed upon you today."

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Are you grateful?"

"Very grateful, sir."

"And how would you like to demonstrate your gratitude, Miss Granger?"

"May I take your cock in my mouth?" 

Lucius guided her hands between his legs. As she took him in her hands, he said, "If you do a good job, and only if you do a good job, I'll let you pleasure yourself." Hermione opened her mouth. "Start slowly," Lucius said, "tongue only." Hermione complied, moving her tongue in a circle around the head of his cock. She was gratified to hear his breathing speed up. He had shown remarkable self-restraint so far and Hermione suspected part of the reason he hadn't tried to put his cock in her or on her somewhere was because for once, he wasn't sure how long he would last. This exact scenario was what he had wanted since the beginning and the build-up had been considerable.

Hermione slid her tongue between her hand and Lucius' cock, creating some lubrication, so she could move her hands as well. She still hadn't taken him completely in her mouth, per his demand, but he hadn't said anything about her hands. He could not have had too much of a problem with what she was doing because he moved his hand back to her breast, caressing and massaging the nipple. Hermione's noises sounded almost primitive, coming from somewhere deep within her. 

"Now use the rest of your mouth," Lucius said between breaths. "What you're doing is acceptable for the time being." Hermione could sense his self-control was starting to crack. He shifted his hand from her breast back to her bound wrists and moved them back between her legs. "Do you want to touch yourself?" he asked.

She took his cock out of her mouth for a moment. "Yes, sir," she breathed. "Please."

"You have my permission." 

"Thank you, sir." Hermione took his cock into her mouth at the same time that she spread her labia apart and used her fingers to rub her clitoris. Almost frenzied, she moved her fingers quickly, building up towards an orgasm she simply had to have. Before she got there, Lucius pulled her hands away. "Now, now," he scolded her, "There really isn't a compelling need to rush. Take your time. Bear in mind that you have a more important job to do than fingering that selfish pussy of yours into ecstasy. Although, I must admit that it is quite a delight not only to see you try, but to exercise my power to stop you when your desire is tormenting you most." Hermione could have kicked him, but instead she gave his cock a few good strokes with her tongue and her lips, until he let her hands go. When he did, she re-started her own pleasure slowly, but it was difficult. It felt as if everything between her legs had an unbearable amount of pressure, like she would burst if she didn't come. 

Lucius had put one hand back into her hair again, controlling her head as she sucked his cock. His other hand had joined hers between her legs. He eased a finger into her, underneath her hands, moving in tandem with her. She rubbed herself faster, keeping her strokes light and even. Pressure built to a critical point and when she did come, her cries were muffled by Lucius' cock in her mouth, but it didn't seem to matter to him as he pushed his cock between her lips and over her tongue. 

When she finished, Lucius released her hair and took his other hand out from between her legs. Hermione pulled away from him and caught her breath, slowly. "Are you ready for my cock now?" Lucius asked her.

"Yes, sir," Hermione said between breaths. "Please."

"I'm not convinced," Lucius said. Hermione groaned once more, unable to help herself. Lucius took her by the jaw again suddenly and tilted her face to his. "Against my better judgment, I just let you come," he snapped. "You'll be thankful for what I choose to give you, and wait patiently for what I choose to withhold."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, because I'm the one who determines whether or not you're ready, spread yourself apart for me so I can see for myself," Lucius ordered. Hermione spread her labia apart, just barely resisting the urge to touch her clit once more as there was not a doubt in her mind it would result in further punishment. Fortunately, Lucius did it for her, once again stroking it gently with one finger. "Yes..." he whispered. "You're so wet, so swollen with longing. Yes, I believe perhaps you may finally be ready for me." He put a finger inside of her, and kissed her clitoris, repeating what he had done with his fingers now with his tongue. "However...you already know what you have to do."

"Please," Hermione moaned. 

Lucius paused. "Please, what?"

"Please put your cock in me..." she whispered. "I'm begging you." The strange thing was, she was not acting now in any capacity. Lucius had teased her to such an excruciating extent that she wanted him in her badly enough to beg him in earnest. "Please don't make me wait any more. I'm begging you to do it..."

"I'm glad to know that you appreciate what I'm doing," Lucius said, taking her wrists and putting them over her head again. Hermione spread her legs. She felt another shift on the couch as Lucius moved between them. She felt the tip of his cock sliding up and down between her labia and she shifted her hips to try and get him to go in, knowing it was useless. He was completely in control of her and he knew it, was counting on it, and was certainly getting off on it, as was she. "But before I put my cock in you," Lucius said, "you have to agree not to come until you have my permission. If you do, I'm going to make you pay." He ran one hand up her chest and let it settle on the front of her throat once again. 

"Yes, sir," Hermione said. She drew in her breath in anticipation.

Lucius pushed all the way into her and Hermione bit her lip as his hips joined hers. He pulled back and pushed in again. Hermione let her breath out slowly. As he pushed into her again, Hermione cried out. Again. He still had her throat in one hand, not applying pressure, just placed there. The added threat pushed her even closer to orgasm. "May I?" she asked, panting, almost unjustly sensitive from her previous orgasm.

"Not yet," came the crisp answer. Lucius started to increase his pace. The other hand moved onto her breast, fingers finding the nipple and teasing it. Hermione drew her breath in sharply at this clear raising of the stakes. 

"Please, sir?" The pressure was building again and Hermione knew she would come whether she had his permission or not. It was a battle that she was destined to lose, a fact Lucius was likely counting on. In fact, it dawned on Hermione that he had no intention of granting permission, a thought Hermione found strangely liberating.

"I said no." Lucius moved in and out of her faster. 

"I-don't-think-I-can--" Hermione never finished the rest of her sentence. The orgasm was even more intense than the first and her hands clenched around the ropes, every muscle in her thighs tightened. Lucius pushed into her harder and faster as she cried out over and over. 

When the aftershocks had abated, Lucius yanked the blindfold off. Hermione closed her eyes in the sudden brightness. Now the sun had come up. "Open your eyes and look at me," Lucius said. Hermione did, squinting. "Did I give you permission to come just now?" 

"No, sir." Hermione was still breathing hard. 

Lucius hesitated for a moment, pondering. "Would you like one more chance?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered. Lucius was still inside of her, moving slowly, and Hermione was confident she could have another orgasm without difficulty. 

"Do you think you can show a little more self-restraint this time?"

"Yes, sir." A complete lie, but Hermione didn't care.

"Very well. One more chance. If you fail me this time..." He replaced the blindfold and put his hand back on her throat. He started to increase his pace and as best she could, Hermione moved her hips up to meet his. In no time at all, she felt Lucius bring her to the edge.

"May I?" she asked.

"No you may not," Lucius answered her. "And to punish your impatience..." Gradually, he increased the pressure on her throat as he thrust into her more quickly. Hermione could feel the pulse in both sides of her neck pounding against his hand. With the vow gone, she should have panicked, but instead, Hermione focused on the immensely rapturous strain once again increasing between her thighs. She cleared her mind, focused solely on her body's sensation and in so doing, opted to trust Lucius and submit in every possible sense by just letting it happen and completely relinquishing all control over the situation. 

"Now?" Hermione managed.

"Not yet," he answered. Lucius tightened the grip on either side of her throat. Blackness crept into the edges of her vision, peaceful, almost holy. Hermione then came loudly, violently, screaming until she was hoarse, the asphyxiation intensifying and prolonging her orgasm in a way she never thought was possible. Lucius' words, spoken to her so long ago, came back in that moment: _The best part is, I was barely trying then. You can't even imagine what it's like when I do._ If Hermione had known at the time that this is what he meant, she wouldn't have thought twice about accepting his offer.

When she finished, Lucius took his hand off of her throat and once again removed her blindfold, his movements rough and insistent. "You're a liar," he said, pulling out of her. "And this is the gratitude I receive for giving you another chance." He grabbed her wrists and brought them back down again. Although his words and movements were angry, his performance was affected, the blissful light in his gray eyes giving lie to the rest of him.

"Sorry, sir," Hermione said, trying mostly unsuccessfully not to smile. It was crystal clear that he wanted her to transgress specifically so he could punish her; they had been together long enough for Hermione to know that she had not let him down in the slightest.

"As usual, you're not sorry at all, and that's the problem," Lucius replied. He stood, still holding onto her and led her over to the desk before turning her around to face him. "And you can wipe that smirk right off your face." Taking out his wand, he pointed them at the bonds. " _Finite incantatum,_ " he said again. The ropes melted away. Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Do not, under any circumstances, mistake this for mercy," he said in answer to her unasked question, "in fact, it is far from it." In one forceful move, he pulled her ruined shirt the rest of the way off of her and tossed it to the side before turning her around so she faced the desk. He then stood behind her. 

He grabbed both her wrists and forced them behind her back. " _Incarcerous,_ " he said. Once again, the ropes bound her wrists, this time behind her. "Oh, I think you know what to do next." She did indeed. Hermione bent over the desk, turning her head to the side. "There. Now you're in the only proper position for a witch as disobedient as you have been." Lucius breathed in deeply, before running his hand up the inside of her thighs and through the stickiness resulting from her three orgasms. "Bent over, legs spread, and pussy just _soaking_ in response to your well-deserved chastisement..." 

The polished mahogany felt freezing on Hermione's naked skin and it was unrelentingly hard, introducing new sensations to her already electrified body. Lucius moved her hair out of the way and leaned over her, his other hand on the desk in front of her face. In a perfect echo of their first time together, the Dark Mark was all she could see. How much had changed from that time to this. "Now, should I be gentle with you?" Lucius asked, his lips brushing her ear. 

"No, sir," Hermione whispered. 

Lucius stood back up and gradually eased his cock back into her, patient even now. "And why is that?" His voice was strained with the effort of maintaining self-control. His hands moved to her hips and he gripped her hard. 

"Because I deserve to be--" she cut off. 

"Deserve to be what?" He pulled back and pushed into her, making the 22 memories on the desk rock. 

Hermione didn't answer right away. The hard wood pressed into her breasts and the right side of her jaw, creating a deliciously painful counterpoint to the pleasure from between her legs as Lucius expertly fucked her. "You know I don't like to repeat myself," he said. "Deserve to be what?" He pushed into her again. The memories clinked against one another.

"Fucked hard," Hermione said, the dirty word coming out against her will. But she knew that he would not relent until she said it. 

"And so?" 

"Fuck me as hard as you can," she said and then, unable to help herself, added, "Please." 

Lucius didn't have to be told twice. He let go of her hair and took her hip once again. He pushed firmly into her, digging in his fingers for leverage. He hadn't taken her from behind since their very first time together; truth be told, because of that first time, Hermione had been frightened of it. She didn't have to be, she reflected. The same thing that had scared her about it in the first place she now found thrilling, this position that allowed him to dominate her utterly. 

He sped up, and Hermione watched the memories dislodge from their neat row, each rolling to the edge of the desk. She watched them go off the side one at a time as Lucius pounded into her hard and fast, his breathing now speeding up as he approached climax. In fact, he had never taken her so violently, so brutally, not even the first time. As much as it was like that first time, it was also nothing like it; where the first time had been agonizing and humiliating, this time was amazing and in a strange way, empowering and cathartic, probably for both of them. Soon, only three memories were left, and then two, until finally, only _Strikethrough_ was left. As Lucius came, it too slipped off the desk and joined the others on the floor. Lucius paused for a moment, hands still on her hips, leaning over her, breathing hard, his hair caressing the skin between Hermione's shoulder blades. After another moment, he pulled slowly out of her and she heard, " _Finite Incantatum._ " The ropes fell from her wrists and she dropped her hands slowly before bringing them palm-down on the desk and pushing herself up. She turned around and closed her shaking legs. 

"Lucius?" she said. He had moved around the desk and, as he had earlier that morning, leaned against it, hands splayed, this time recovering and catching his breath. 

He looked up at her through his hair. "What?" he asked.

Hermione half-smiled. "Happy Christmas."


	21. 58: Happy Christmas; 59: House Guests; 60: Snatched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius tells Hermione one more story from his past, the truth about his aversion to non-consensual sex. The Ministry falls and Hermione, Ron, and Harry go on the run. A short time later, during their Horcrux hunt, they are captured by a Snatcher gang and taken to Malfoy Manor, which has now been taken over by Voldemort. Lucius comes to Hermione's aid at a desperate moment, but their reprieve is short-lived as Hermione finds herself having to make a terrible decision to save Lucius in return. 
> 
> _"My father sat me down for yet another conversation about what it meant to be a pureblood wizard. 'Lucius,' he said solemnly, almost with sorrow, 'We have been given a tremendous gift in the magical blood that runs in our veins. It is precious and thus must be vouchsafed from impurity; nothing is more important, nothing except ensuring that Muggle-borns always know that if they must partake in our society, they must never forget their place in it.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much do I love you guys? Enough to schlep my laptop on vacation in Florida over Thanksgiving (Wizarding World!!! I was nerdgasming so hard, y'all, standing there in Knockturn Alley, in Borgin & Burke's; yes, they really built it, yes, there is a full-size Vanishing Cabinet inside; they built ALL of Diagon Alley AND Hogsmeade, best Black Friday EVAR, squeeOMG!1!!11! If going there is not on your bucket list, it should be), so I could keep working. I normally don't write fanfic when I travel, but I made an exception this time, for YOU. That's the good news...
> 
> The bad news? *deep sigh* This chapter is quite non-con-y, so if you're triggered by that, you may want to steer clear. In fact, I sort of hate myself for writing this chapter, I do such awful things to our heroes; I said that 19 was going to be the worst, but that's actually not true. This chapter is very, very dark, although I didn't foresee any other end knowing that I would eventually dovetail back into _Deathly Hallows_ book canon, but I know what happens herein is going to devastate a lot of you. BUT, before I get doused in Haterade, particularly about what Hermione does to Lucius, the resounding theme of this entire work has been people making the wrong decisions for the right reasons from the very beginning, and this is no different.
> 
> If you would prefer, you can make up your own headcanon Chapter 21, "and they lived happily ever after. The End." I swear to Merlin, after this, I'm just going to write simple, smutty one-shot stuff, like Marauder-era Lucius Malfoy/Lily Evans in the Prefects' Bathroom or some shit...yeah, that sounds good.

CHAPTER 58: HAPPY CHRISTMAS

After the spectacular sex, Lucius and Hermione both dressed. Hermione's shirt was ruined beyond even magical help, continuing to char slowly when Hermione picked it up between thumb and index finger. Lucius apologized, and Hermione rewarded his obvious insincerity with a reproachful look, before assuring him that she had others. Once dressed, she and Lucius ate. Inasmuch as Hermione was hoping that her decision to let Lucius have his way with her would put him into a more harmonious or even relaxed state of mind, the opposite seemed to hold true. If anything, he was even quieter and more taciturn. 

Following breakfast, Hermione joined Lucius in the small drawing room, the place in which they had first spoken in any meaningful capacity. The two dogs joined them as well, Primus with Hermione and Secondus with Lucius, or perhaps it was the other way around, Hermione was never sure. "Why did you give your dogs such ridiculous names, Lucius?" Hermione asked with a smile as she stroked Primus' fur with her hand and he panted at her. 

Lucius returned her smile. "I didn't name them: Draco did."

Hermione nodded. "Ah. I see now." 

"Well, I'll amend that. He wanted to name them One and Two. We--Narcissa and I--had gifted them as puppies for Draco's sixth birthday." Lucius scratched Secondus behind his ears. "Not one to crush my son's dreams, I kept my mouth shut...well, for the most part, anyway. I knelt down to where Draco was holding both squirming whelps at the same time, desperately trying not to let them escape. I said, 'it's a fine choice, Draco, but we are Malfoy men, and these are Malfoy dogs, so their names need to be turned to Latin, as they have been for 300 years.' So, One and Two became Primus and Secondus, which they are to this day." 

Hermione smirked. "All right, but _translated_ they're still One and Two."

Lucius looked injured. "Yes, but _our_ way, the Malfoy way, is far more refined, Miss Granger. I wouldn't expect you to understand." 

Hermione glared at him. "Because I'm Muggle-born?"

"No," Lucius said, smiling once more, "Because despite your cleverness, you are severely lacking in imagination and a certain..." He paused, searching for the right word, "...romanticism." 

Hermione fumed, or pretended to fume, but it was largely affected as she watched Lucius' smile fade to the same troubled look that he had been wearing almost all morning. He looked into the fire as he had when he had told her about Purity Descending. Thinking about Purity Descending reminded Hermione of what Avery was going to do to Lucius in the bathroom and it brought to mind a question she had been meaning to ask Lucius. She turned her body on the couch to face him. "May I ask you something about what I saw in the Pensieve?" she asked.

Lucius side-eyed her. "Perhaps," he said coolly. "It depends upon what you ask."

"You say that Purity Descending is the reason why you insist upon sexual consent, but is that the only reason? I mean, I thought maybe, with what happened with Avery..."

Lucius turned to face her now. "Yes," he answered, cutting the word off sharply. "That's the reason exactly. Nothing more." 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You can just say that you don't want to tell me, you know. You don't always have to lie."

Lucius sighed. "I'm just not sure what benefit is to be had from relaying yet another story to you about how pathological my upbringing was."

"Do you want to tell me?" Herimone asked. 

"Not particularly, as it will make you think far less of me and for once I actually care what you think."

Hermione looked at him curiously; this was certainly the first time he had admitted anything of the kind to her. "I hit Draco in the face once," Hermione blurted out. "There, now you can think less of me." Now it was Lucius' turn to glare at her. Hermione held up a hand. "In my defense, he was being a rotten little--"

"Watch yourself, Miss Granger." 

"The hippogriff. It had to do with that incident, is all I'm saying..." Hermione finished, her voice trailing off.

Lucius gave her an appraising glance. "Is that a spellbook you truly wish to open today and cast from?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Very well." Lucius shifted on the couch as well, now once again facing the fire, elbows resting on his knees. By now the two dogs had abandoned them and had curled up facing away from each other in front of the fire. "There are many reasons that I don't agree with non-consensual sexual engagement, such as Purity Descending, or that which almost happened with Avery, but the true reason reaches even further back in my already sordid history." He rubbed his left palm with his right hand, massaging the surface just beneath his wedding ring. "You are now cognizant of the fact that my mother died as a result of my birth. Thus, without that female presence to guide and teach me, my father believed, quite rightly, that I should have a governess. 

"I remember the first one, my favorite one, and the one who held on the longest." Lucius smiled sadly as he said that, his thumb moving in a circle beneath his wedding band. "Her name was Georgina Bailey. She was a Muggle-born witch from the north, Manchester, I believe. She had golden hair, freckles, and dimples when she smiled, which she did quite frequently. She always had songs and games and I loved her as only a small child can, wholeheartedly and with the abandon that comes from thinking nothing can ever go wrong. However, as I got older, her smiles gradually came less often, her songs became sadder, and her games disappeared or became rote and mechanical." 

Lucius looked at Hermione. "Now, my father taught me from a young age to notice everything. He used to sit me in a room, have me close my eyes, remove one thing from the room, and then have me open my eyes and guess what was different. Sometimes it was easy, such as a piece of furniture but over time, the objects became smaller and the game more subtle. I couldn't leave the room until I performed this task successfully and he would not give me any hints. My needs didn't matter in the slightest and if I protested, my father would say, 'if you're that concerned, sharpen your perceptions, Lucius.' If I foolishly protested again, the next sound I would hear would be the back of his hand meeting my face or, if he was particularly annoyed, his belt clearing its loops and then shutting my mouth through my lacerated flesh."

Hermione gasped. "That's terrible."

Lucius shrugged. "Perhaps. Back then, no one even thought to question such methods of rearing pureblooded children. Although it may sound brutal to you, it was a means for my father to forge a weapon in me: we Malfoys had long been at the summit of the wizarding world, but the only way to remain there was to be the hardest, most cunning, most ruthless wizards and witches that our world has ever known. My father knew this, as his father before him, and his father before that, back through countless generations, and my father reared me accordingly. Granted, I spared Draco all that, mostly because of Narcissa's intervention, and as such, at the very least, he is not as perceptive as I would like."

"But he's a Seeker," Hermione pointed out. _And he likely hates you less than you hated your own father,_ she thought.

"Yes, he is, or was. But he would have been a champion with slightly more rigorous training." Lucius sighed. "Anyway, because of my honed perceptions, I started to notice the shadows under Georgina's eyes, the faint bruising around her mouth and on her shoulders that she covered unsuccessfully with spells or makeup, the way her eyes darted to the side or down to the floor whenever my father was in the room, and the care with which she sat down on certain days. Of course, although I noticed these things, my immature mind was not yet ready to make out a pattern. I could observe, but not create an interpretation or analysis of those small things I noticed. Stars I could see, but not constellations." 

Lucius paused. His eyes drifted back to the fire. "And then she was gone, just like that, without explanation from her or from my father. My father simply said that she had taken another job, playing it off as the dismissal or retention of any other servant, but the truth was, my heart was broken. Fearing the censure with which my father treated all outward displays of unmanly emotion, I kept my grief to myself to the best of my ability. Within a week, I had another governess, who lasted about two months, whom I don't remember. And then a third, and then a fourth in the span of the next six months. None lasted, and all started out amiably enough and then became quiet, subdued, bruised, bent, broken, and then gone."

Lucius looked at Hermione. "Then came the fifth, another Muggle-born witch named Robena March. She had long, auburn hair and skin like china. She did not sing, and she hardly smiled, but she possessed a deep, unmatched kindness I'm not certain I've seen in anyone who has come into my life since. No, her talent lay in telling stories, fantastical, epic tales with themes and motifs and morals, all from her own head. I adored her as well, but kept my adoration closely guarded from my father, as by then I had learned that hardness was the only way to communicate with him, or to earn what scant scraps of respect he could spare to throw my way."

Lucius played with his wedding band now, rolling it slowly on his finger. "At this point, my father had indeed started teaching me how to recognize patterns and make meaning from them. So, he would remove objects from the room and not only would I have to guess what they were, but once I identified them, I would have to state what linked them and why he had chosen to remove them. And it wasn't just objects. My father turned me into a student of human behavior. He would host soirées and garden parties at Malfoy Manor, inviting witches and wizards, after which he would quiz me thoroughly about things that I had seen and heard. Did I notice that Auror Ignacio Benicar had a new wand? Did I manage to figure out why? Did I notice that he was also casting with his non-dominant hand? What did I make of that? Why did Lena Marx-Ulysses have a sudden white streak in her midnight-black hair? My father would test me night after night, interrogation after interrogation. I would misjudge, make assumptions, most of which resulted in a cold rebuke if I was wrong and an amended explanation if I was right. In these instances, my father would not raise a hand against me, unless I begged off as too tired, or made any other show of weakness.

"That said, when Robena's stories became sadder, shorter, and bleaker, I linked them in my mind with the contusions on her porcelain flesh and the tremor in her hands whenever my father looked at her or spoke to her. I became bolder in my investigation and actually asked her about the bruises. She lied to me, of course, how could she not? It was an accident, always, a missed step or an error of proprioception that ensured her beautiful face met the wall, or the cupboard, or the door jamb. My father had also taught me to identify how people acted when they lied, told the truth, or told a partial truth in subtle clues within the eyes, the hands, the lips. In answering my inquiries, Robena's eyes deviated with her fabrications, her hands moved like birds looking for a perch, her lovely, battered lips now generated fantastical stories that told me everything but that she was regularly being abused by the man who paid her wage, gave her a roof over her head, and lent credibility to her resumé with his influence, his connections, his wealth, and his lineage."

Lucius rested his elbow on the back of the couch and he stroked his temple with his fingers. "I was getting nowhere with a direct approach, so I became more subtle. Through stealth and magic I learned to hide in plain sight. It wasn't a matter of simply being quiet and concealing myself, it was about diverting my thoughts elsewhere, clearing my mind and creating a blank spot where my body was that made it so people did not notice my presence. And I watched more intently. And I listened more closely." Lucius paused and sighed. "It turned out to be disastrous. By now I was ten and and on the cusp of starting my curriculum at Hogwarts. I started following Robena when her duties carried her elsewhere in Malfoy Manor besides those parts to which I had laid claim.

"And then one day it happened, and the irony of it is that I wasn't even spying at the time. I was simply looking for a book that I wanted to read and I thought that I had left it in the conservatory. When I arrived there, the door was closed, which was odd as it was a communal space, not a private one. Curious, and now with every sense on the alert, I put my ear to the door. I heard two voices: my father's voice: smooth, cold, not raised in anger, just giving some sort of a rational explanation. The other voice was Robena's, pleading perhaps, or crying, not loudly, but desperately nonetheless. 

"Heart in my mouth, I cracked the door. I heard the very familiar, sharp, staccato sound of my father's hand raised against someone else's skin and then the more legato cry of pain from Robena. 'There's really no point in protesting, as this is no less than my due, Robena,' my father said, 'Surely by now you realize this.' His words were now punctuated with some sort of physical effort. I heard more whimpering from Robena. Hatred leeched into every word that came out of my father's mouth next: 'In any event, I should think you'd be rather more grateful. As a witch of your deplorable blood status, this is the closest to purity you could ever hope to be.' At this point, I opened the door further and there they were: Robena bent over one of the tables with her skirt up over her hips and my father standing rather closer to her then propriety would normally dictate. One of my father's hands held the back of her neck, pinning her firmly to the table and keeping her in the compromising pose he seemed to think appropriate for a witch so far beneath him. The other held her hip as counter-traction so he could avail himself of that which he considered his property, like everything else on the estate."

Lucius relayed the story without apparent emotion, but his eyes still looked haunted as they gazed past Hermione's left ear, into this distant and agonizing past. "They both saw me at the same time. Robena spoke first. Her green eyes met mine and I'll never forget the appeal and terror I saw there in equal measure. She begged for the clemency from me that she knew she would never get from my father. 'Help me, Lucius,' she begged. 'Please.' She didn't scream, but whispered as if she knew it was pointless, which of course it was, and as if my father had driven out her capacity to scream, which of course he had. 

"I stood there, rooted to the spot, the image searing itself into my young mind. For his part, my father didn't even break his stride. He too looked at me, annoyed perhaps at my intrusion, but with no doubt as to what I would do. 'It's not a choice, Lucius,' was all he would say. He was correct. There was no rescue to be had at _my_ hands. It wasn't even cowardice in my case: that ingrained family loyalty won out, as my father had both ensured and thus predicted. Certain realities and patterns that were centuries old were being played out in front of my eyes and, endowed as I was with all the power of the Malfoy name, I was powerless in that moment to stop its evil."

Hermione gaped at him. Like what she had seen in the Pensieve, it explained a great deal. 

Lucius took his hand off of the side of his head and folded with his other hand in his lap. "In retrospect, any reasonable witch or wizard would call it rape, but my father would never see it that way, nor would any pureblood aristocrat of that mindset and that era. Abraxas Malfoy hated Mudbloods, and demonstrated this through his subjugation of many that crossed his path or any that he would employ. The pattern manifested itself readily once I was old enough and experienced enough to see it: all of my governesses were Muggle-born; my father ensured this, so he would grant himself a vessel into which he could inject his hatred and over whom he could exercise his power. As an added bonus, he made sure that each one was the sort of witch that he knew his son would care for and in this way, he implicitly and underhandedly punished me for killing his wife, my mother, over and over, by harming and devouring those women who had become surrogates for her.

"I realized much later that this was the reason that Purity Descending was so valuable to my father: he never had to worry about impregnating any of these witches; he could pour his seed into them without any fear of repercussions in risking blood traitorism." Lucius looked at Hermione. "I can well imagine what you might ask at this point: if purebloods were so concerned about impregnating those born of Muggles, why not simply choose other partners? And I shall also answer: abstinence was never part of the equation, nor was it meant to be. As I said, my father would not see it as rape: as far as he was concerned, what he did was simply the natural order of how the wizarding world was designed to work."

Hermione could do nothing to keep the horror from showing on her face. Every time she thought she had heard the worst, Lucius would come up with something else. With everything he had been taught and had endured, it was a wonder he could ever have anything approaching a normal human relationship. Moreover, it was a testament to just how far he had come with her.

Lucius caught her dismayed look and raised an eyebrow. "This shocks you? Oh, but it gets worse: not only did Abraxas Malfoy not see a problem taking Muggle-born witches without their consent and forcing them violently if they did not comply: he saw it as a moral imperative. After I caught him with Robena, he sat me down for yet another conversation about what it meant to be a pureblood wizard. 'Lucius,' he said solemnly, almost with sorrow, 'We have been given a tremendous gift in the magical blood that runs in our veins. It is precious and thus must be vouchsafed from impurity; nothing is more important, nothing except ensuring that Muggle-borns always know that if they must partake in our society, they must never forget their place in it.' 

"He looked in my eyes, willing me to understand and in a strange way, attempting to forge a connection, 'This shall be your responsibility as well when you become a man.' I pointed out that Robena hadn't done anything to him other than existing. I earnestly explained that she had been kind to me, always, and that I didn't like that he was hurting her. Finally, I actually asked him to stop. As you can see, I wasn't a coward; I truly attempted to stand up to my father on this one and choose the right course of action rather than the path of least resistance."

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

Lucius sighed deeply. "His affect turned cold and he said that I clearly didn't understand him and that by Merlin, he would _make_ me understand. Thus, I found myself on the receiving end of the worst beating my father had ever meted out and Robena disappeared the following day, but unlike the other governesses, she left everything behind, and I do mean everything, including half a cup of tea."

Hermione bit her lip in thought and then her eyes widened at the implication. "Oh, god..." she whispered. "She met the manticore, didn't she?"

"Allegedly, no, of course she didn't. The Aurors came around, but my father stated that she had simply left. At that time, Aurors were less concerned about the fate of Muggle-borns as they have become in our current, more progressive climate. Therefore, they didn't try to dig any deeper; the word of Abraxas Malfoy was more than sufficient. For my part, I did go to the Fell Circle, but if that was indeed how Robena met her end, my father had cleared up his tracks remarkably well. All I found were a few drops of blood on the leaves in front of the manticore. It was enough confirmation for me, but there was nothing more to be done."

Lucius paused before continuing. "Another governess came, my last, and I kept my distance. I was a good boy, you might say, dutiful in my lessons, obedient, but never again affectionate or warm. Father raped her as well and I didn't bat an eye. In fact, I felt nothing. You see, his destruction of the bodies and spirits of these witches was as systematic as his calculated stripping of my humanity. He peeled it away, layer by later, discarding each one the same way he discarded my used governesses. He did this in the same, detached manner in which he removed any other series of objects from my environment in order to teach me pattern recognition. Thus, by the time the Dark Lord came around, I was primed and ready for his rhetoric and his mission, the ultimate soldier of purity. By then, nothing else was left. Besides, my father was dead so you might say the Dark Lord filled that void as well."

"Did you kill your father?" Hermione asked, aware as she said it that she didn't actually want to know if he had.

Lucius smiled coldly. "He died of Dragon Pox, Hermione. Everyone knows that." 

Hermione shivered at this typical Lucius Malfoy non-answer, although it had potentially spared her yet another uncomfortable truth about him. "Have you ever had to rape anyone in the Dark Lord's service?" Hermione asked, once again fearful of the answer. 

Lucius' smile faded. "Understand, Hermione, that I avoided it for as long as I possibly could with the excuse that it would taint my own purity, as it was always with Muggles and Muggle-born witches. The only times I did it were when the Dark Lord afforded me no other option and my refusal or even hesitation would have meant my death and later, the death of my family. The truth was, he was onto me fairly quickly regarding this and with his skill as a Legilimens, and my utter lack of skill at Occlumency, the Dark Lord was nearly impossible for me to deceive, so his insistence was a cruel test, like so many others." Lucius held up his hand. "I'll spare you the sordid details. Suffice to say, it was difficult to perform as a man when Robena's tear-stained face, and appeal to me for help kept coming to mind at the critical moment."

"What about me?" Hermione asked. "That first time, I mean. You certainly had no trouble performing as a man and it was a clear exercise of your cruelty and power. You said that my pain and my fear were as sweet as what was between my thighs--your words." Even now, Hermione found she couldn't say it without bitterness.

Lucius looked at her sharply. "Yes, I know perfectly well what I said, but I had your consent, Hermione, always, so it became a matter of bending you to my will all while making it your choice, not unlike the last time we did it. Say what you will about the first time we were together, but in no way did I then, nor have I ever, nor _would_ I ever, rape you. What I said the first time about pain and fear was a ploy to convince you that you were indeed having sex with a Death Eater, as you were counting on, and to punish you for not coming to me for my own sake, a subject we have already covered." 

Hermione shook her head. She was still not convinced it was justified, but it was water so far under the bridge that there was no point in dredging it up now.

A look of disgust crossed Lucius' features. "Besides, non-consensual sexual encounters are as lazy as they are destructive. Many wizards, such as myself...my father...Avery, possess the physical and magical power to overcome the will of another, it's true. However, as I've told you in the past, as much as I like power, exercising it in that pathetic capacity pales in comparison to the power that comes through making a witch enjoy the encounter so much that she can think of nothing else." Lucius smiled. "Surely you must be able to relate to that." 

Hermione returned his smile and shrugged. "I've had worse," she said. 

"I know for a certainty that you have," Lucius agreed. "As to that first time, the most potent aphrodisiac lay in the realization that you wanted to enjoy yourself with me." He waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, I could have gotten my cock wet in you, frightened you as I had been doing, been done within minutes and it would have satisfied a base need, but it would hardly have thrilled me. No, the intrigue was that you wanted me to pleasure you and make you come and Merlin, were you _ever_ bad at hiding it." Lucius shook his head ruefully. "The ambivalence you felt towards me was entertaining to be sure, but that wanton lust, that passion was what hooked me and has kept me hooked from that day to this one." Lucius went back to rubbing his temple with his fingers. "I shouldn't have been surprised, really."

"Because you're that irresistable?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

Lucius raised both eyebrows in mock surprise. "Why yes, Miss Granger, apparently I must be; it's simply the only explanation. Otherwise, why undress me with your eyes as I walked down the Hogwarts halls with my fellows, new from my Azkaban release, penitent, and ready for a fresh start." Lucius now arranged his features into a look of distress. "There I was, minding my own affairs, doing my assigned duty as a Hogwarts Board Member, completely innocent and unaware that I was about to be ensnared by its voracious Head Girl for her own lascivious purposes, her designs bent on compromising my newly-minted virtue, to say nothing of my sacred marital vows..." Lucius shook his head sorrowfully. "The truth is, I never stood a chance against an onslaught of that magnitude."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, would you stop?" Hermione asked, exasperated even as she felt the corners of her mouth turn up. 

Lucius looked at the fire once more, all traces of humor gone and his mood suddenly bleak. "Yes," he said. "I will."

Hermione felt her brows knit in concern. "What's wrong?" she finally asked. Something about him had been inexplicably off all morning, or since the previous night: his agreeing to let her see all of his Pensieve memories, attempting to make her leave, confessing the truth about his position on non-consensual sex, and finally, his affect. _Pattern recognition, that was what he said,_ Hermione thought. Her mind built the puzzle one piece at a time and when she saw the picture, the realization took her breath away and her eyes pricked with tears. 

Lucius slowly turned to her, his gray eyes full of pain that he didn't bother to cover with his characteristic irony or dark humor. Even his sadistic pleasure in her humiliation the first time they had had sex or when he had cut her almost fatally with the Final Knife hadn't been as terrifying as this was. It was a look of utter agony and despair. "This shall be our last day as lovers, Hermione," he said softly, confirming Hermione's worst suspicions.

Hermione's felt as if her stomach was dropping to her toes. "What? Why?" It was everything she could do to fight the panic rising in her throat and threatening to choke her. "I thought we trusted each other now and we could move on, why you showed me the memories and I let you punish me and relinquished the Vow's hold on you," she said, her words coming in a mad rush as if to staunch a hemorrhaging wound. "And now you've told me so much more..."

"If only it were just about that," Lucius said. His eyes drifted back to the fire.

A thousand explanations assaulted her all at once: he had finally been able to dominate her sexually and thus was done with her. He didn't trust her after all. Despite his sea change in Azkaban, he still hated her as a Mudblood. He was that furious over her breaking into his memories. Hermione stalled, unable to articulate any of them. Deep down, she knew that none of them were even close to being true and that the actual truth was going to be a thousand times worse. "What, then?" was all Hermione could say, her heart beating madly. 

"The Ministry has fallen to the Dark Lord. Rufus Scrimgeour is dead." He looked at her once more. "Dumbledore as well." 

Each statement felt like a Beater's bat to the chest and Hermione had to force herself to take a breath as she had suddenly lost the ability. She mustered every ounce of willpower and channeled it into not panicking. "When did you find all this out?" she finally asked. 

"Most of it last night, some of it confirmed this morning." 

Hermione's mind raced and finally settled on Lucius' note to her: _Delayed by the inevitable distraction, mundane and work-related...I'll be back when I can._ It was probably a lie, set in place this time to keep her calm; that, or else when Lucius had gone to the Ministry, he really hadn't been aware that anything was amiss. "When specifically?"

Lucius rubbed his forehead with one hand. "I found out about Dumbledore right after I dropped the Anti-Apparition ward. At that point, the writing was on the wall. I found out about Scrimgeour while you were down in the Pensieve, and finally the Ministry while you were getting dressed." 

Hermione felt her eyes widen. So much had happened since she had set foot in Malfoy Manor last night; shifts had occurred that felt as if the earth had stood still or possibly even reversed course. During almost all of this, Lucius had known that Voldemort was back in power and that the two men most instrumental in Lucius' conversion away from pureblood supremacy and its inherited evil and darkness, his two true allies were both dead. They were also the only other people on the planet who knew the truth about him, leaving Hermione, who couldn't tell anyone. "Scrimgeour...and Dumbledore...both gone," Hermione said, making herself say the words out loud and thus start the process of accepting them as reality. She looked at Lucius. He had folded his hands in his lap now and was looking at them, his hair falling around his face. For the first time ever, Hermione was truly scared for him. "Now there's no one to stand between you and You-Know-Who." 

Lucius looked up quickly at that. "Don't deceive yourself, Hermione," he said, half-smiling. "There never was. No one made me become a Death Eater. I and I alone signed up in full knowledge of what that meant. At the time, it was fully in line with what I thought was good, and just, and right; no purpose could be higher or more noble than defending the virtue of blood purity. Now, as you've seen, I'm no longer a Death Eater in my heart, but..." he held up his left forearm and looked at it. "It doesn't really matter to the Dark Lord, now does it?" 

"But he betrayed you," Hermione protested, even while knowing it was no use.

Lucius gave her that same bitter smile. He opened the fingers of his left hand. "Ah, but he can't betray me; that's not how it works. _I_ swore the oath, not the other way around. In any event, he and the rest of the Death Eaters will arrive by nightfall, at which point, he will make Malfoy Manor his rallying point, safe house, headquarters, what have you...the terminology is merely semantics at this point: I have no say in the manner in which they use my ancestral home." Fatalistic, he raised his eyebrows. "The point is, you need to leave, sooner rather than later." 

"That was the reason that you wanted me to leave after showing me the Pensieve."

"Mostly, yes. By delaying even this much, I fear I may have put you in even more danger than you would have otherwise been."

"Would you have pushed me out without telling me what was happening?" Hermione asked.

Lucius sighed, impatient. "Of course not. You would have left with full disclosure of what was going on, but we never got that far, did we? You gave me the very last thing that I had expected, would not have dreamed of asking of you, but very much wanted and knew we might never be able to do again." He turned his eyes back to hers. "Today was always going to be the end, Hermione. Nothing can change that now, but I'm glad that it ended as it did, with your completely unrestrained trust and, dare I say it? Love." 

Hermione swallowed, trying desperately to focus and rein in her usually logical mind. "I don't see why we need to stop being lovers," she said.

"Do you not?" Lucius said incredulously. He took Hermione's hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles, his touch tender, but his voice intense and completely serious. "The instant the Dark Lord perceives the truth of how deeply I feel for you, he'll see to it that you die before my eyes, slowly and screaming in agony the entire time."

"Because I'm a Muggle-born," Hermione said, her voice hollow. 

Lucius took a deep breath. "Yes," he said, "However, what you must understand is that your blood status is no more than a convenient excuse in this case. The larger point is that you are a Muggle-born witch that has become far too important to me, one of his most loyal pureblood servants. As far as the Dark Lord is concerned, my feelings for you and my relationship with you represent the most profane hypocrisy he might imagine. Thus, he would not do it to punish you, but to punish me and believe me when I say it would be one of the worst things he could possibly do to me, short of harming or killing Narcissa or Draco."

Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyes once again. It was so unfair that as soon as Lucius revealed the entirety of his humanity to her, and confess as much as someone like him ever would that he loved her, that he would cut her off from all of it completely. That he had just equated her importance to that of Narcissa and Draco made it so much worse. "Making it about you, of course," she said, attempting to draw blood as she drew her hands away from him.

"No, Hermione, not this time," Lucius said firmly. "I can tell even _you_ don't believe that. My sole concern is to protect you. Narcissa and Draco...the Dark Lord will do everything possible not to kill them. They are both pureblood, and even if something happens to me, Narcissa is Bellatrix' sister and Draco holds the Malfoy dynasty both legally and in his blood. In sum, they are hardly expendable."

"And I am," Hermione said resentfully. 

Lucius looked at his hands once again, almost in disbelief that he could not use them to stop what was coming. "To the Dark Lord, yes. To me, no," he said. "Not now, not ever." He looked at her. "And I also know that I can't protect you...not now, not ever."

Determined not to give up, Hermione tried once more. "Why can't we just put this on hold and resume it when this is all over?"

"Because despite every effort I have taken to ensure my own survival, the chance of me coming out of a second Wizarding War alive is slim to none, particularly as the Dark Lord has absolutely no trust in me this time and the entire Order of the Phoenix plus half the Auror department is just begging for an excuse to see me dead." The detachment with which he said it chilled Hermione, mostly because she realized he was right. "Best to cut it off now before the situation becomes ugly for both of us."

"And if you survive?"

Almost as if he was afraid, Lucius reached for her hand. Hermione let him take it in both of his. "It took more effort than you can possibly imagine for me to regain even a sliver of my humanity and I fully admit it wouldn't have been possible without Dumbledore. But now he is gone and Scrimgeour is gone and with no allies left, I have no choice but to re-join the Dark Lord. My concern is that in joining him for this war, he will tear down what little humanity I have remaining. If I survive this second war, I will not be the man you know and care for any more and I fear--No, I _know_ \--that I shall no longer be worthy of you, if I even am now." His voice dropped to a whisper as he said this. He looked into her eyes. "It is for this reason that I showed you the Pensieve and told you about my father. I didn't want to die without someone knowing the full truth."

Hermione wanted more than anything to kiss him, to hold him and not ever let go, come what may, but there had to be a solution, there just had to be. Thus, Hermione still worked, attempting to bend her sharp mind around the problem as she always had. "Can't you declare against the Dark Lord?"

"Don't you think that if I could, I would have done it by now?" Lucius asked.

"What's stopping you?" Hermione asked.

"Narcissa and Draco, of course," Lucius said. "Inasmuch as I'd like them to stay in the States, Narcissa at the very least shall return to Malfoy Manor as soon as she hears what has happened. And while she may insist that Draco stay, he too will want to return if he believes any danger might befall her. My family will not sit this one out and as soon as they return to Malfoy Manor, they return to the Dark Lord's control."

Hermione frowned. "I thought you said that they weren't in any danger from the Dark Lord."

Lucius shook his head. "No, what I _said_ was that he would hesitate to kill them. He will not, however, hesitate to use them to control me. I know you like a historical perspective as much as the next Head Girl, so here's one for you: when Thomas Selwyn tried to defect in the first Wizarding War, the Dark Lord used his home as a base, specifically so he could control him and his family. The Dark Lord made much of Selwyn's hospitality, thanked him for it daily even though it was little more than house arrest and was completely involuntary. Selwyn might have escaped or committed suicide by Killing Curse by deliberately getting caught, but his wife Margeurite was still in the house as well. As soon as the thought of defecting crossed Selwyn's mind, the Dark Lord made it clear that were that to happen, Margeurite would continue and even expand on Selwyn's hospitality...every single night...and with every single Death Eater." 

Hermione froze, her eyes wide with the implication and what that would mean for Lucius and especially for Narcissa. 

"I'm glad you catch my meaning, Miss Granger. That said, if the Dark Lord is willing to inflict that sort of proxy punishment on a pedigreed pureblood witch such as Margeurite Selwyn or, as an example, on my own wife, you can only imagine what he might do to you." Just then, Lucius did a double take at his own left arm, where the Dark Mark glowed faintly. He looked at Hermione. "He's coming imminently," Lucius said. He stood up, took her hand and led her back to his office. 

In a daze, Hermione followed him. "Listen to me, because we have virtually no time," Lucius said. At his desk, he dropped her hand and started opening drawers, becoming more agitated as he did. Finally, he drew his wand and pointed it at the ceiling. " _Alohamora,_ " he said. The trapdoor sprung open. " _Accio silver dragon blood._ " Hermione heard a swish with some shattered glass, as if a pile of papers or folders had crashed into a potion vial or two before a red reagent bottle flew out. Lucius caught it deftly and held it up. It was sealed with golden wax, stamped with the Malfoy crest. Lucius waved his wand at the ceiling and the trapdoor closed. "Here," he said, holding out the bottle as he stowed his wand. "This is the entirety of the Malfoy stock."

Hermione looked at it. "For services rendered?" she asked dryly.

Lucius sighed, grabbed her hand, and put the bottle into it. "No, for performing Vigilant Presence, as was initially intended, so you can keep tabs on the Death Eaters, as was also initially intended. If not, sell it and make yourself comfortable for the rest of your days if you can manage not to get caught." He managed a slim smile at this. Hermione would have given the silver dragon blood or its value back not to have what was happening now play out. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. Lucius by now had taken her other hand and pulled her out to the black and white bedroom, where her things were. Hermione wrapped the silver dragon blood in a scarf and put it in the bottom of her bag before putting on a warmer shirt and a coat. She put her backpack on as she followed Lucius back to the atrium, race-walking to keep up with him. 

Lucius held up his left forearm, where the Dark Mark was now glowing red. He took Hermione by the arms and looked into her eyes. "You're going to have to go on the run; I think you already know this. The most important thing is that if you're caught by the Dark Lord's Snatchers, you mustn't let them bring you back to Malfoy Manor. You don't know Occlumency and without a teacher, it's impossible to learn. Because of that, returning here while the Dark Lord takes up residence is suicide for both of us; whatever you do, don't let that happen. This place carries nothing for you but destruction." His eyes moved to the sweeping staircase and the tall marble columns before finding hers once again. "Promise me, Hermione," he said.

"I promise," Hermione said, knowing it was impossible to keep. 

Lucius took a deep breath. "I'm going to drop the anti-Apparition ward and you must not hesitate to Disapparate because as you do, the Dark Lord and Merlin knows how many Death Eaters may Apparate in within moments. Neither waver, nor hesitate, do you understand?" Hermione nodded. Lucius drew his wand. Slowly, Hermione drew hers as well. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," Hermione whispered as the tears finally fell down her cheeks and splashed on the enchanted marble at her feet, creating silver ripples that drifted out in ever-increasing circles. Lucius put his wand away, crossed the distance between them, and slipped his hands under her jaw, tilting her face up to his. For the last time, his lips touched hers and Hermione kissed him back with abandon as her mind attempted frantically to commit it all to memory. She was still in numb disbelief that this was really it. 

Far too soon, Lucius broke, his hands still on her face. He looked into her eyes. "Remind me of your safe word once more, if you would," he said.

"Gryffindor," Hermione said.

"Yes, and why is that?"

"B-because I'm brave," Hermione answered shakily. 

Lucius dropped his hands and drew his wand for the last time. "You said it yourself, Miss Granger." As he flashed the smirk she knew so intimately, Hermione's heart twisted in her chest. She focused her mind on the spell as she watched Lucius perform the wand work requisite for dropping the ward. She closed her eyes to clear her mind and when she did, she could see the ward dissipate like the morning's mist. Without hesitating, she opened her eyes and Disapparated, the image of Lucius smirking at her the last thing in her mind.

CHAPTER 59: HOUSE GUESTS

Narcissa stood in the conservatory of Malfoy Manor, looking out over the snow-covered grounds. The fountains, the trees, the paths, the yew hedges were all encapsulated in a pristine blanket of snow. Everything was so still: the quintessential calm before the storm. She hadn't lit any candles, nor had she allowed the house elves to light any candles either. She could hear the company of Death Eaters and Voldemort making conversation in the dining hall, and knew that she would be expected to join them shortly, but she wasn't ready. She needed one more moment of clarity and peace before the uncertainty and peril of hosting the Dark Lord as well as England's most dangerous wizards and witches became her reality. 

Narcissa sighed and came away from the window. It had been a nice holiday, really and truly and she was beyond glad that she had gotten a chance to see Draco. She sat down at the grand piano. With her right hand, she ghosted out the treble to _Für Elise_ as she let her mind recollect. Draco had let a modest house in the Garden District and had set up camp there nicely. He had met many other witches and wizards during his time in New Orleans, and had even hosted a very tasteful dinner party on Christmas Eve so that he could introduce them to Narcissa and vice versa. Draco seemed content, happy and healthy, which, as his mother, completed Narcissa's own happiness.

Then came Christmas morning. Narcissa had exchanged a few gifts with Draco and they had enjoyed a lovely breakfast together before going on their usual morning walk around the Garden District. The warmth of the air and the general feeling of calm that permeated the storied American city presented a nice contrast to England. Narcissa wouldn't have chosen to live there, but she did like to visit and it seemed to be a good fit for Draco, a perfect blend of old and new. 

When they returned from their walk, Bonnsie was there waiting for them, a jarring Christmas surprise and Narcissa's heart dropped. The only way that Lucius would use the Trans-Atlantic Floo system was if there was an absolute emergency. Bonnsie handed Narcissa a letter that confirmed Narcissa's worst suspicions:

_My lady wife,_

_The Ministry had fallen. Both Rufus Scrimgeour and Albus Dumbledore lie in their graves. The Dark Lord has fully regained power. His plan involves taking over Malfoy Manor and using it to house himself and to run headquarters. No doubt the Dark Lord's intention is to keep a close watch on me in this manner. Ergo, it is imperative that you NOT RETURN TO MALFOY MANOR, nor that you let Draco return. The Dark Lord may insist that you come back at some point in the future, in order to control me, but my wish is to delay that outcome for as long as possible. The fewer people I need to protect, the better. If I do not survive the Dark Lord's return, please understand that I love you more than you can possibly imagine and I'm sorry for everything I've put you through._

_Yours,_

_Lucius Abraxus Malfoy_

Narcissa felt a sliver of fear before she handed the note to Draco to read. When he was finished, to Narcissa's surprise, Bonnsie now held out an envelope to Draco as well. It had his name on the front, in Lucius' handwriting and the back was sealed with the Malfoy crest and above that, Lucius had written, _open only in the event of my death._ Draco said nothing, just pursed his lips and put the letter away in a drawer of his writing desk. 

Narcissa didn't need to order Bonnsie to stay; she would not leave until she was dismissed. Leaving Draco in the living room, Narcissa went to her guest room, packed quickly and threw on her warm traveling cloak before coming back down the stairs. "Are you going, mother?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"Of course, Draco."

"But father said--"

"I'm well aware of what your father wants. What he wants and what's best for him are not always the same things. He needs me in Malfoy Manor and he needs me there before the Death Eaters return; anything else will appear most suspect." Narcissa wrapped a black cashmere scarf over her head and secured it under her chin. "Now, your absence we can play off, at least for a while."

Draco looked down at the carpet, his fair hair falling over his forehead. "I'd like to return as well, mother."

Narcissa shook her head. "No, Draco. Your father _is_ right about that. We need to delay your return as long as possible, indefinitely, if we can. It's our duty to keep you out of harm's way."

Draco looked up, hurt. "I'm a man, mother, and a Malfoy."

Narcissa sighed. Draco had grown up considerably since leaving Hogwarts, but nothing would change the fact that he was still her child. "You're also an overly valuable pawn for the Dark Lord to play against your father and me."

"But father is the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenant."

Narcissa smiled grimly. "Much has changed in the last three years, Draco. The Dark Lord was displeased at Lucius' errors in the Department of Mysteries, and has not shown any inclination that he is done punishing him for it, nor that he trusts him." She looked at her son with tenderness, heart-broken that she had to leave him, as she always was, but she squared her shoulders: it was best if she made it quick and departed before she lost her nerve. "Goodbye, Draco," Narcissa said. With that, she embraced her beloved son, grabbed Bonnsie and used the Trans-Atlantic Floo powder that Bonnsie had in her pocket to get back to Malfoy Manor. 

The house was quiet and seemed different, somehow. Narcissa gave Bonnsie her cloak, scarf, and belongings to see too. She then took out her wand and closed her eyes, probing at the wards. The reason the house seemed different was because they were down, all except Repello Muggletum. With another thrill of foreboding, Narcissa sheathed her wand and went to look for Lucius. She found him sitting in his office, pulling memories. Narcissa kept quiet and watched him, as he systematically placed his wand to his head, extracted a silvery-blue wisp, placed it in a vial, sealed it, and dashed off a label before affixing it. He already had about a dozen completed in a drawer. He moved with a sort of grim efficiency and for the first time, Narcissa let the idea permeate her mind that Lucius really might not make it through the imminent Second Wizard War alive. He certainly wasn't acting like it.

Narcissa knocked softly, so as not to startle him. Lucius looked up at her sharply and then shook his head, his mouth in a tight line. "I told you to stay in New Orleans with Draco. The Dark Lord shall arrive any minute." 

Narcissa folded her arms and regarded him. "Good. That means I headed him off."

Lucius sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and pulled another memory, repeating the same sequence he had been doing prior to Narcissa's interruption. "Well, it's really your funeral then. I hope you're prepared to fuck every Death Eater when they get here, Narcissa," Lucius said.

Narcissa sighed. As usual, Lucius was covering his fear with contempt and nastiness. Narcissa smiled frostily. "I must admit, it will sate a certain curiosity," she said. "I've always possessed a wonder at what it would be like with my husband's friends; wives who say otherwise are lying, you know." She sighed again, pondering. "Macnair probably likes to do it from behind, I would wager, animal lover that he is. Yaxley..." Narcissa paused, looking at the carpet as if for inspiration before meeting Lucius' expression of revulsion with her own wryly amused glance. She tilted her head to the side. "Foot fetish, perhaps? The Carrows...I'm not worried as no doubt they are doing for each other; I don't suppose incest is that much of a taboo for the likes of them...Greyback..." Narcissa shuddered dramatically. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that, but offhand I'd imagine that his appetite isn't the only thing about him that's over-sized." Narcissa raised an eyebrow and drew both index fingers in a line in the air, farther and farther apart.

"All right, you've had your fun," Lucius snapped, but Narcissa saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes and felt assured that she had made him feel incrementally better. At times, Lucius himself had joked about the horrible aspects of his life, no doubt to create the detachment that made them more tolerable. 

Narcissa looked at the drawer with the new memories and noticed that it already possessed a label: _Hermione._ That could only mean one thing. "You finally ended it with the Mudblood, then?" Narcissa asked, unable to keep the scorn from her voice. 

Lucius sighed and placed another completed ampule with the others. "Yes, it's finished. She took it well and now she's out of danger and thus, so am I on that front at least." He smiled. "It was nice while it lasted, but you needn't worry on that score any longer. Play time is over." 

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him. Lucius was acting flippant but his demeanor was off; his eyes looked haunted and she could see the pain behind the quick remarks and ready smiles. Narcissa shook her head. "You held out way too long, Lucius."

Lucius shrugged. "Whether I did or not doesn't matter at this point. She's gone and she promised not to come back." His smile faded. Narcissa watched him carefully as apprehension scratched at the edges of her psyche. Lucius was hurting far more than he was letting on and the fear for Granger's involvement in the war showed clearly in his eyes. In the end, Narcissa gave up. As Lucius had said, he had told her to leave and not come back. The rest of it was up to fate. 

When the Death Eaters did arrive, the Dark Lord came first. In a dark rush of wings, he Apparated into the atrium. Lucius was already there to meet him, in full Death Eater regalia, less the mask. He bowed his head as Voldemort looked at him. "My lord," Lucius said, his voice quiet. Narcissa watched from the stairs. 

Voldemort looked at him coldly. "Lucius," he said. "How hospitable of you to finally drop your wards and let me in."

Lucius eyes tracked away, perhaps in submission. "I didn't have a choice, my lord, at least not until Scrimgeour was dead. He kept such close surveillance on me, any attempt on my part to reach out to you in a meaningful way would have meant an instant return to Azkaban."

Voldemort looked somewhat mollified. "Better late than never, is that correct, Lucius?"

Lucius nodded. "You're here, my lord. That's what matters."

Voldemort smiled. "Yes, Lucius, I am very much here and I certainly have no intention of leaving."

Lucius squared his shoulders and looked Voldemort in the eye. "And you are welcome, my lord, to my home and hospitality." 

Voldemort's stare now carried contempt. "So kind of you, Lucius," he said. "I can only hope that the loyalty you profess in welcoming me and your fellow Death Eaters is authentic. I suspect time will tell and when the test comes, you shall not dare to fail me again."

"I would never even consider it, my lord," Lucius replied, his demeanor giving nothing away.

Voldemort stared intently at Lucius for one more pregnant moment before he noticed Narcissa and smiled at her. "Narcissa, a pleasure as always," he said.

Narcissa nodded slowly. "My lord," she returned.

Voldemort's eyes kept hers for just a moment more and Narcissa could feel him making his way around her mind. It wasn't the first time he had tried it, and Narcissa knew how to keep him at bay without making it seem like that's what she was doing; her Occlumency had always seemed to hold against Voldemort, perhaps because he had a low index of suspicion against her and thus he had never really pushed her hard. After a moment, he exited and looked back at Lucius. "Your wife grows more beautiful every time I see her, Lucius," he said, chilling Narcissa. Coming from the Dark Lord, it was anything but complimentary. "I'm afraid that we shall also be intruding upon her hospitality, but, if all goes as planned, not to an invasive degree." 

Narcissa could hear the threat as loudly as if Voldemort had shouted it, and no doubt Lucius had as well. "She is as beautiful as she is loyal, my lord," Lucius replied, his gaze steely. Narcissa felt a surge of respect for Lucius at this. In his way, Lucius was making it crystal clear that Narcissa was out of bounds. Narcissa had no idea whether or not it would hold, but at least Lucius was willing to draw that line.

Narcissa smiled. "I'm certain that it shall be no trouble whatsoever, my lord," she said lightly. Despite how she had bantered with Lucius, she had no interest in sharing her body with the other Death Eaters, but if it came to that, she would steel her spine and do whatever was necessary to keep her family out of danger. 

When the other Death Eaters arrived, Voldemort called a meeting. He had staged another Azkaban break-in, so the assembled company included witches and wizards who had been incarcerated with Lucius. There were enough of them that they were massed in the large sitting room, some sitting three to a chaise, some standing, some milling about. 

Voldemort held court from the giant winged armchair closest to the fire, Nagini draped over the back with her head resting in his lap. He stroked her scaly head absently with the back of a long-nailed hand as his eyes tracked over his assorted followers. Lucius stood at his right arm, Bellatrix at his left. "Friends," Voldemort said and instantly a hush fell over the room. "Who are we missing?" 

"Severus," Lucius answered him. 

Voldemort nodded. "Yes, he is where he is supposed to be, in charge of Hogwarts...who else?"

"Dolohov," MacNair answered from somewhere in the back of the room.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Where is he?"

"Dead, my lord," MacNair answered. "Natural causes, in Azkaban."

Voldemort looked displeased. "Who else?"

"Avery and Mulciber," MacNair said. 

"And where are they?" Voldemort's hand had paused in stroking Nagini.

"Also dead."

Voldemort stood, garnering an angry hiss from Nagini. "How?" he asked.

"N-natural causes, my lord," MacNair said, his voice climbing in fear. When he spoke again, his speech was pressured as if the quicker he got the words out, the less trouble he might be in. "Avery caught the fever and died three days later. Dolohov had an accident on a work detail and bled to death. Mulciber had a heart attack."

Voldemort's turned slowly, fixing his eyes on Lucius. Lucius had arranged his features into a look of troubled confusion. "I need the room," Voldemort said softly, his eyes staying on Lucius' face. This pronouncement was met with concerned muttering. "Now!" Voldemort snapped. The Death Eaters and others stood and made their way to the exits. Lucius turned to go as well. "Lucius, I would speak with you," Voldemort said. "Alone," he added as Bellatrix opened her mouth to protest. 

Bellatrix shot Lucius a dirty look, which he ignored. "Come on, Cissy," Bellatrix said, taking Narcissa by the arm and leading her out. When they exited into the atrium, Narcissa broke from her sister upon some pretense involving consulting with the house elves about seeing that rooms were ready for the guests staying in Malfoy Manor over night. Narcissa raced up the curving staircase. She would never know Malfoy Manor as well as Lucius did, but she knew a few of its quirks, including the vent just above the large drawing room that allowed for easy eavesdropping, if one knew where to look.

The vent was behind a locked trunk. Narcissa took out her wand swiftly. " _Locomotor,_ " she whispered. The trunk moved to the side and Narcissa hunkered down next to it, pressing her ear to the vent as she put her wand hastily away. 

"Natural causes, Lucius?" Voldemort hissed.

"I'm as surprised as you are, my lord." 

Narcissa smiled until she heard a wand being drawn. "Do I have to Cruciatus Curse you to get past the lies, Lucius?" Voldemort asked.

A sigh. "If you think it necessary, my lord, but all that happened after I left Azkaban, so I'm not sure what good it would do." His voice sounded regretful and Narcissa knew, rather than merely suspecting that at some point in the last two years, Lucius had practiced and possibly perfected Occlumency. Nothing else would explain his cool head in this critical moment with the Dark Lord. 

Voldemort paused. "You know nothing, Lucius?" He sounded frustrated.

"All I know is that the Weasley twins went into Azkaban mere moments before those three died," Lucius said. 

"The Weasley twins?" Voldemort asked. "From the eponymous blood traitor family?"

"The same. They were part of the so-called Dumbledore's Army and wouldn't have been above some form of vigilante justice, not to mention the fact that Dolohov killed their uncles Gideon and Fabian Prewett, so it wasn't as if they needed much of an excuse. Also, they went in to Azkaban in the first place for brewing and selling poisons, so it wouldn't have been difficult to make those deaths look like accidents, or...'natural causes.'" 

There was another pause. "Are they still in Azkaban?"

"They are not, my lord. They were released about six weeks ago."

"I shall place a price on their heads, then." 

Lucius was now the one to sigh, knowing what Voldemort meant was that Lucius would put a price on their heads. "Only on one, my lord."

"Why, Lucius?"

"Killing one shall be far crueler than killing both."

Narcissa felt a twisted smile pull the corners of her mouth. This was Lucius at his worst, coming up with a ruthless scheme that exploited the Weasley twins' weaknesses, bending the Dark Lord's ear with it and pouring in that same honeyed poison that he used on everyone. She suspected that Lucius had a hand in the death of the three Death Eaters, and clearly Voldemort suspected this as well, but could not prove it, not if Lucius was using Occlumency. As if reading Narcissa's mind, Voldemort spoke again. "If I discover that you had anything to do with this, Lucius, I'll find a special agony for each person that you care about and demonstrate it in your full witness."

"That shouldn't be necessary, my lord. I learned my lesson in Azkaban and harbored no grudge against those three, despite what they did. I realize also that they did it on your orders and it was to teach me the benefit of loyalty." Narcissa could hear the contrition there, and could only hope the Dark Lord was buying what Lucius was selling.

"Ah yes, Lucius, your loyalty is quite precious to me, and once again, if I find it wavering in the slightest, as I said, your loved ones shall be the ones who feel my wrath most keenly."

"I understand, my lord. I shall give you no reason to doubt it again."

A final pause from Voldemort. "Send in the others. It's time to plan." Narcissa stood up quickly, moved the trunk back to where it was supposed to be and descended the stairs, filing in with the other Death Eaters. Lucius was back at Voldemort's right hand and Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief as the first hurdle seemed to be cleared for her family.

CHAPTER 60: SNATCHED

Two months had passed since Lucius had abruptly and very finally had ended things with Hermione and the reality of it was drearier than the partially frozen river she, Harry, and Ron had chosen as a very temporary hiding spot on their dismally slow and fruitless Horcrux hunt. Hermione sat by the tiny fire she had created, attempting to warm her hands. She didn't dare risk a huge fire, the kind for warming the entire front of your body, or singing songs around, or for cooking on. It was small, because as the size of the fire increased, so did the risk of getting caught by the roving bands of Snatchers. 

All three of them had prices on their heads: Harry was obvious, as Undesirable Number One, and she and Ron, as a Mudblood and a Blood Traitor respectively, were valuable, albeit to a lesser extent. Their value mostly lay in their knowledge of the Boy Who Lived, above and beyond their own undesirable statuses. Hermione unfortunately hadn't gotten a chance to give the silver dragon blood to anyone in the Order. Everything had happened quickly and Hermione had barely had time to collect her things as well as Ron and Harry before the Muggle-born Registration Act passed through a puppet government and the formation of the Snatcher gangs had necessitated a quick disappearance, as Lucius had predicted. 

Hermione rubbed her hands in front of the paltry flame and shivered. The cold was one of the worst parts of being on the run, although there were a lot to choose from: unrelenting fear and anxiety, eating nothing but crackers and canned meat for days, and barely sleeping. One of the three of them constantly had to keep watch, so invariably, their sleep would be broken and they had experienced several very close calls in the middle of the night. If the Snatchers weren't going to sleep, neither could they. 

Also, when Hermione did sleep, she invariably dreamed of Lucius. She would have nightmares about him, him being tortured and killed by Voldemort, or being forced by Voldemort to torture and kill her. As bad as those were, they were in some way better than the good dreams, dreams in which she lay peacefully in the comforting and strong circle of Lucius' arms, running her fingers over his chest and his hair, or dreams in which they shared each other's bodies in any number of different ways. On mornings following these types of dreams, the cold seemed to lance through her more cruelly, and the sparse forest seemed even bleaker. 

Hermione had ample opportunities to think about Lucius, as she, Ron, and Harry spent a considerable amount of time hiding, moving, hiding, waiting, hiding, on and on, long day following long night, following long day in a monotonous cycle. Hermione cried as well, of course she did, but only when she was absolutely confident she was alone. She cried out of loneliness, out of longing, and out of the anxiety that accompanied having no idea what was happening to Lucius, to say nothing of those left at Hogwarts under the new, murderous Headmaster, Severus Snape. Hermione sniffed next to the tiny fire, determined to get through one day without tears. She shifted position on the frozen log she sat on as a piece of bark was digging uncomfortably into her rear. The boys had just left to go to a nearby town to scrounge for food to supplement their meager rations, leaving Hermione alone, probably for about an hour. 

Hermione rubbed her hands together once more before realizing that she had gloves in her bag. She stood up and arched her back, feeling several vertebrae snap satisfactorily. She walked back into the tent, crouched next to her bag and pointed her wand at it. " _Accio gloves,_ " she muttered. She then waited a moment. No luck. Sighing, she put her wand away and plunged her hand deep into the bag. Her fingers trailed against clothes, books, a potion bottle. She frowned. It didn't feel like Essence of Dittany or Cat's Eye potion. Curious which one it was, she drew it out to look and immediately regretted it. It was the Prima Nocte. She sighed in disgust, unsure why she had even brought it. It was of no use to anyone. _Then why are you keeping it?_ she asked herself. Hermione hesitated and placed it in her pocket, determined to dispose of it when it was safe to do so. 

She put her hand back into the bag, now up to her shoulder. Her hand closed on balled-up socks and more and more books, but no gloves. She probed around some more and her hand closed on something long and smooth. Curious yet again, Hermione drew the object out and once more, sighed exasperatedly. It was Lucius' first day of work gift to her. _Stupid universe,_ she thought, _two reminders of Lucius in as many minutes._ Like the Prima Nocte, she wasn't sure why she had kept it. She certainly hadn't used it, or even been tempted. Her life had become too fraught and it would just stall her progress in getting over him, which she desperately needed to do. 

Hermione was about to cast it back into her impossibly deep bag, but as with the Prima Nocte, she hesitated. It wasn't as if she was even close to getting over Lucius and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if he was getting over her. Again, the uncertainty was torturous for her, when she liked control above all things. She stood frozen in every sense of the word in the tent, wand in one hand, dildo in the other. She actually laughed out loud at the absurdity of her situation and then closed her bag and sat down on her cot, looking at her own reflection in the dildo's mirror surface. _Well,_ she thought mischievously, _there's really only one way to find out for sure._ Her reflection turned to one of grim determination, tempered with a faint smirk. _I'm doing this as an experiment, nothing more._ She paused, listened intently for a moment, but heard nothing. 

Satisfied that she was safe, Hermione kicked off her boots and lay down on the cot, before unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down her thighs along with her underwear. She then kicked them off completely, leaving her naked from the waist down except for her knit knee socks. There was no way she was taking those off; it was way too cold. Also, it was far too cold for her to disrobe on top, so she settled for unbuttoning her coat and unzipping her sweatshirt enough to slip her hand into her shirt underneath. She moved her fingers inside of her bra and lightly pinched her nipple before massaging it with her index finger. Her pussy clenched immediately, in part because she hadn't come in two months and in part because her hands were freezing and her nipple hardened immediately as a result. Hermione drew her hand back out of her shirt and switched so she could rub the other nipple. Her breath caught in her throat. She had forgotten how good this felt and let her legs drift apart.

Hermione wasted no time; she had gotten turned back on much faster than she had thought possible and she also had no clear idea when the boys might return. Getting caught in the act by Harry and Ron held no appeal for her whatsoever, so she would have to be efficient. She took the dildo in her right hand. _"Iniciaris,"_ she whispered. The dildo vibrated to life. She took it in her mouth and gave it a thorough covering that would ease its passage through her labia. Just thinking about it made her spread her legs further in anticipation. Breathing rapidly, she probed her opening with the dildo's smooth head before slipping it in, feeling it lusciously stretch and caress her inner walls. _Oh, I should have done this a long time ago,_ she thought, her mouth widening in a smile that she hadn't experienced in months. She left the toy in, just enjoying the feeling of it inside of her before drawing it back and ramming it in, gasping at the sensation. Assured that she had programmed the dildo for what she wanted, she let it go. 

The device did not let her down, but drove into her aching pussy hard and fast as Hermione rocked her hips against it. Impatiently, and now plenty warm, Hermione sat up enough to slip out of her coat all while the dildo pounded into her. She drew her shirt up and her bra, exposing her breasts and her hard nipples. Hermione rubbed her nipples as her breathing became more rapid and shallow. She pictured Lucius between her legs, guiding her knees apart with his hands and grabbing her hips, determined to have her and make her orgasm as she gave herself up to it and to him. Hermione took her hands off of her breasts and used them instead to fondle her clit as the dildo plunged in and out of her. Inadvertently, her hands brushed the dildo and found it somewhat yielding and definitely warm. Hermione's heart leapt as she realized that Lucius was indeed on the receiving end of her ministrations. This assurance brought her even closer to climax and when she came, she whispered his name, not daring to cry it out, but still climaxing with it very much on her lips. 

After her orgasm had abated, she pulled the dildo out of herself. _"Terminio,"_ she said and it became still and silent. With unsteady hands, Hermione put her underwear and jeans back on. She wiped her toy off with a towel and put it back in her bag before slipping back into her boots. The entire enterprise had taken less than six minutes, but had satisfied a hunger that Hermione was completely unaware existed, and also had answered a burning question. The smile still on her face, she zipped up her coat an walked back out to the fire. As she sat back down on the log, Hermione realized that she had never found her gloves and then further realized that she actually didn't care.

The following day, the Snatchers got them. Hermione congratulated herself at least in giving them a good chase: her daily running by now had at least made them work for their catch, even if it didn't stop it. She also congratulated herself for hitting Harry with the Stinging Jinx, and for pulling the name Penelope Clearwater from her head and applying it to herself. Unfortunately, this last had endured all of 10 minutes, because as soon as their leader Scabior had seen her face in the _Daily Prophet_ the Snatchers had found when they raided the tent, the game was up.

The Snatchers treated them with insults, but not with curses or much physical abuse. However, Hermione couldn't shake the fact that Scabior made her nervous. Hermione did not like the way that his dark eyes tracked her movements. She did not like it how his gaze raked up and down her body with malevolent interest. She did not like the way that he gave her compliments that weren't really compliments, how she was beautiful (for a Mudblood), or that she smelled good (again, for a Mudblood), the last one accompanied by him sniffing deeply at her hair. Ron protested, but only once because Scabior sucker punched him as soon as he did, knocking the wind out of him, so now when Scabior paid Hermione too much attention, Ron did little but glare at him sullenly. 

Hermione remained cautiously optimistic that they might be taken to the Ministry upon being snatched, as many other undesirables had been. Gryffindor's sword, however, changed all of that, as well as Scabior's sharp eyes noticing Harry's scar. As soon as those two things were discovered, she, Ron and Harry were then bound for what Scabior termed _Headquarters,_ to attempt at the very least to confirm or deny Harry's true identity. Hermione suspected that he meant Malfoy Manor, but she wasn't completely sure and in any event, she didn't dare attempt to escape, not when Harry and Ron could not come with her. She could have broken away by stealth, but it would have meant Harry and Ron's lives and the Snatchers had also confiscated her wand. 

As evening came on, Scabior and two other Snatchers side-along Apparated them, and the familiar wrought-iron gates and tall yew hedges of Malfoy Manor appeared before Hermione. Hermione stopped in the middle of the promenade up to the estate, heart racing in fear over the reality that was about to come to pass. "Come on, we don't have all day," Scabior said irritably. 

"No, please, not in there," Hermione begged.

Scabior responded by taking her firmly by the arm and marching her with him. Hermione's heart sped up more as her feet crunched on the white gravel of the walk up to the polished black lacquered door. Hermione looked left and right at Ron and Harry being led up with her. As desperate as their situation was, Hermione had to try something, if for no other reason than to at least attempt to keep her word to Lucius, even knowing it was a ridiculously long shot. Scabior had her as well as all three of their wands. He kept an iron grip on Hermione's left arm as he walked her up the stairs and across the threshold of Malfoy Manor. Before he could steer her through the door, she elbowed him as hard as she could in the sternum. The breath whooshed out of him and he doubled over. As he did, Hermione hit him in the face with the flat of her hand. It was too little, too late and Ron and Harry looked at her, dumbfounded. "Move!" she screamed. By then, their captors were well aware that something was going wrong and tightened their holds on Harry and Ron, making escape impossible. 

By now, Scabior had rallied and grabbed Hermione from behind by both her arms, blood now running freely from both of his nostrils. "Take them to the main hall. I'm going to stay behind and teach this Mudblood some manners." He turned her around, took her by the hair and forced her head back so she had to look at him. "This beautiful Mudblood..." he said, turning Hermione's veins to ice. 

Hermione heard Harry and Ron yelling, protesting, their voices getting farther and farther away and taking any slim chance of salvation with them. "Finally a moment alone," Scabior murmured, before hauling her down the hall. He kicked the door open to the dining room with its long black table. Hermione swallowed, her mouth metallic with adrenaline. 

Scabior moved the chair at the head of the table away with one hand. He forced both her hands behind her. _"Incarcerous."_ Hermione grimaced as the ropes bit into her flesh, far tighter and crueler than when Lucius had done it to her. Scabior reached around her, undid her jeans and pulled them and her underwear roughly down to her ankles. Hermione tried hard not to panic, but there was no way of sugar-coating the situation and it was all transpiring so damned fast. Scabior took her by the back of the neck and pushed her face-down onto the polished table, holding her there as he positioned himself behind her. She turned her head to the side as he leaned over her. "I was always going to do this, you know," he said.

Hermione whimpered, unable to help herself. "Please don't..."

"But I was going to do it quickly...until you decided to hit me...so now..." He ran his hand over the curve of her rear. "I'm going to take my time."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said.

"Oh, it's way too late for that," Scabior said.

In response, Hermione screamed. Instantly, Scabior clamped his hand over her mouth. "Shut up," he growled. "No one here is friends with you, don't you get that? You call them down here, and as soon as they see you like this, you'll be sharing that tight Mudblood cunt with more than just me. Is that what you want?"

Scabior took his hand off of her mouth and stood back up, keeping his other hand firmly on the back of her neck. Hermione shook her head as best as she could. 

"That's what I thought." Scabior sighed with contentment. "You're all mine." Hermione could hear the smile in his voice and it made her skin crawl.

Hermione could see nothing but the chairs closest to the head of the table. She closed her eyes, trying to still her mind, but nothing would close her ears. She heard a belt buckle and then a zipper. Finally, she heard Scabior spit into his hand. In spite of her efforts to remain calm, Hermione felt her breathing speed up. She squeezed her eyes tight and braced herself for the inevitable.

"What are you doing?" Hermione's eyes flew open at the smooth, refined, cold, and all-too-familiar voice. She almost wept in relief. 

"Now you've done it. You've called down the lord of the manor," Scabior muttered to her before addressing Lucius. "Teaching this insolent Mudblood some respect; you understand, don't you, Malfoy?" The grip on the back of her neck tightened and Hermione winced.

"Let her up, Scabior," Lucius ordered, his voice low with revulsion.

"No. She's my catch to do with what I want. House rules."

"House rules?" Now Hermione heard amusement. "Remind me, if you would, whose house this actually is."

Scabior paused. "It's yours, but--"

"Exactly. Knowing that, I can't imagine that you intend to spread this Mudblood's filth _where we eat._ " He made the last three words come out in a hiss. 

Hermione shivered. Merlin, but he was good, so good _she_ almost believed him. Again, Scabior paused, wavering. "I'll make it quick and I'll clean up the mess," he compromised. 

Hermione heard the scrape of dragon heartstring encased in 18 inches of black elm wood coming free as Lucius drew his wand. "I'll keep this simple, Scabior. If I have to ask again, it'll be the very last request you'll ever hear. Is that clear?"

"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy, this might be your house, but she's my hostage and I'll do whatever I damn well--"

" _Avada Kedavra._ " 

Hermione felt the heat from Lucius' Killing Curse graze the back of her bare thighs and then gasped as Scabior's hand slowly released from her neck and he fell to the floor with a crash. " _Finite incantatum._ " Her hands now free, and weak with relief, Hermione pushed herself up and hastily dressed. She turned to face Lucius and her heart leapt in seeing him again, even in these dire circumstances. He wore the same Death Eater leather armor he had worn in the Department of Mysteries, the deep black of his cloak making his hair shine all the brighter. Even dressed as her enemy, Hermione wanted nothing more than to go to him and hold him and be held in return. 

Lucius stood in front of her, so close and yet so far away with his arms folded forbiddingly in front of him. "You had but one task, Hermione," he said, his voice tight with fury as he sheathed his wand. "And it was to avoid being caught and brought to Malfoy Manor. That was the entirety of it and yet here you stand before me, very nearly raped within five minutes of your entrance back onto my estate. I do hope that by now you appreciate the danger in your being here, now that it's too late for you." 

"Thank you for saving me, Lucius," Hermione said quietly. 

Lucius sneered at Scabior's dead body crumpled at the head of his table. "It wasn't my first choice, you know, especially this quickly and humanely. I would have chosen an Entrail-Expelling Curse, followed up by using his own viscera to strangle him while he watched." He smiled vindictively.

"That's sweet, Lucius." Hermione said it with mild sarcasm, but the strange thing was that it actually _was_ sweet in Lucius' way, this fierce protection of his, now trained on her, albeit in a violently disturbing way.

Lucius ignored her. "Regardless, I'm now compelled to explain his death to the Dark Lord." He looked back at Hermione. "But that is child's play compared to getting you back out of here safely without risking your life, my life, or the lives of my family." He sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "This is _precisely_ what I didn't want. By now, they all know you're here, and that I'm here as well, which means that I can't simply let you out the way you came."

"Nor would I go, not when you have the rest of my friends held captive," Hermione said.

Lucius pondered this. "Thus, the best we can hope for is for me to take you down to the dungeon and play your presence off as that of just another captive until we figure out how to let you escape." He nodded. "I like it; it's simple."

Hermione shook her head ruefully. "Even you're not that lucky, Lucius," she replied softly. "You'd better have a back-up plan for when your simple plan goes to Hades in a Gringott's cart. Has You-Know-Who yet tested your loyalty in a meaningful way since taking over your house?"

Lucius looked away but didn't answer.

Hermione took the opening of his cloak gently in both of her hands. "He's going to have you make an example of me, Lucius, you know that he is. Your best defense is actually to go on the offensive with me before You-Know-Who has a chance to call the curses." She tilted her head down and rested her forehead on his leather-clad chest for just a moment before lifting her face to his. "You know what that means. And yes, you have my consent, before you ask." 

Lucius' mouth tightened into a line and he shook his head, looking beyond Hermione. "Well, you don't exactly have mine. I can tell you right now I probably won't be able to do it. If I can hardly do it to a Muggle I couldn't care less about, how am I supposed to do it with you?" 

Hermione ran her finger along the designs in his leather armor. "You're not going to like this, but...you have to channel your father."

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment. "That's the last thing I want to do."

Hermione sighed. "I know you don't, but because of your reticence in doing it in the past with other Muggle-born witches, it's the only path to making You-Know-Who trust you and thus saving your family." 

"It's more than that, Hermione," Lucius said. "The only way that it will work is if the Dark Lord doesn't think to attempt Legilimens on you. The moment he gets into your mind, the facade will break and all of our history will pour forth like water from a burst dam." He sighed. "I will, of course, block him as best I can with Occlumency and if I'm very fortunate, it will be enough, particularly if I put my body between you and him." Lucius looked at her, a shadow in his eyes of the same pain he had exhibited the day he had ended their affair. "If I try this, for your part, all I can suggest is recalling that same fear that you felt towards me the first night we were together." He tilted his head to the side. "In fact, if I am to conjure the shade of Abraxas Malfoy, it shall be very much like that, only magnified exponentially, and far less enjoyable for either of us." 

Hermione smiled slightly. "I have every confidence in you. Remind me again of your safe word."

Lucius looked at her once again. "It's _Slytherin,_ of course," he answered with the smallest ghost of a smile in return. 

"Because you're just...so... _cunning,_ aren't you?" she whispered. She let go and stepped back.

Lucius squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and massaged them with his right hand. "I don't...I don't want to do this, Hermione. This isn't who I am."

Hermione's heart went out to him. She had hardly ever seen him devoid of his famous confidence, had never seen him this vulnerable and she hated to see him in so much pain and so stuck in his situation. "I know," she said softly. "And I wouldn't agree to it if I wasn't completely assured of that."

Lucius winced, his shoulders tight. "For everything that is about to happen to you, I apologize." Seemingly resolved, he opened his eyes and fixed her with a cold stare. As he had the first night that they had been together, Hermione recognized him slipping back into the character of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy. The transition saddened her as much as it chilled her. She was the only living person who knew how hard he had worked and how much he had had to overcome to shed that mantle. 

It was not a moment too soon. Lucius took her by the arms, not unlike what Scabior had done to get her into Malfoy Manor at the same moment that Voldemort appeared at the door to the dining room. He assessed the scene quickly, Lucius holding Hermione, who now struggled against him, and Scabior lying in a heap, dead on the floor. Voldemort's eyes finally rested on his lieutenant's face. "What happened here, Lucius?" he asked, his voice edged with suspicion. It was obvious to Hermione that he was keeping Lucius on a tight leash. 

Lucius didn't even hesitate. "The Mudblood killed Scabior, my lord," Lucius answered and Hermione hoped his Occlumency was as quick as his lies. Hermione would have preferred a different lie, however, such as one in which Lucius had killed him because Scabior was trying to help her escape or something else that was closer to the truth. Too late now. "I was going to make an example of her, my lord."

Voldemort looked a little surprised although no less suspicious. "Really, Lucius?"

" _No!_ " Hermione screamed, struggling harder, and making herself play into Lucius' lie. "It was no more than self-defense. Scabior was going to rape me."

Voldemort actually laughed at this, a low and evil laugh completely devoid of mirth. "And what do you imagine Malfoy's going to do to you?" he asked. "This is a war, girl. Best get used to its time-honored tactics, particularly if you wish to identify yourself as a combatant." His eyes drifted back down to Scabior's prone form.

Lucius smiled at this as well. "Actually, I have my own score to settle with this particular Mudblood, my lord."

"Indeed?" 

Lucius tilted his head in her direction. "This is Hermione Granger, no less than Dumbledore's one-time Head Girl and bearing the saccharine title of Brightest Witch of her Age."

Voldemort's cold eyes lit up. "Is that so? Perhaps you can dim or even snuff her light then, Lucius, that is..." His eyes faded back into distrust, "if you haven't gone soft." 

"Oh, I'm hard enough to break this one, my lord." Lucius tightened his grip on Hermione's arm and followed Voldemort back to the main hall. Hermione fought against Lucius as he dragged her up the stairs. In the main hall, she blanched at the assembled company, which included Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolphus, Walden MacNair, Fenrir Greyback, Narcissa Malfoy, a few more Death Eaters Hermione didn't recognize and the two Snatchers who had taken in Harry and Ron. Mercifully, Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen; presumably they had already been taken to the dungeon. 

Lucius threw her down on the floor and Hermione used her hands to break her fall. Lying on her stomach, she felt something hard digging into her hip, something she had no doubt put into her pocket and forgotten. She had no time to investigate now. She turned over quickly and rested on her elbows. Lucius was standing over her and pointing his wand at her. "I'd advise you to stay down," he said coldly. "I'd be lying if I said casting Cruciatus on you now was even the first time I've cast it today." The company laughed. 

Hermione swallowed, looking into his face and then at the other faces in turn. When she got to Narcissa's, she caught a look of empathy there before Narcissa quietly ducked out, unwilling to witness what was about to happen. Hermione couldn't blame her. 

Lucius now addressed the rest of the assembled Death Eaters. He didn't raise his voice but it still carried. "This is Hermione Granger. Her parents are Muggles, as were their parents before them, back and back throughout history in one filthy, pointless, unremarkable line. She has overstepped her proper place not once, but time and again, rising through the ranks of Hogwarts during her time there to become Head Girl, jumping past many pureblood witches far more worthy of the title, thanks in no small part to the late, great Muggle-lover Albus Dumbledore..."

This time titters were mixed with indignant muttering. 

Lucius continued. "But this was not enough for her, not just to overreach her station. No, she had the audacity and despicable pride to strike a pureblood wizard." He looked at her contemptuously. "My son, my sole heir." Lucius shook his head. "Thus, it is my sacred duty as Draco's father to sanction her for this unforgivable crime." _Merlin, he's laying it on thick,_ Hermione thought, but quickly focused her thoughts away from this. Judging by the company's ominous mutterings, Lucius was telling a convincing enough tale and the last thing Hermione wanted to do with the wizarding world's best Legilimens in the room was to let these wayward thoughts wander out of her head and into Voldemort's. 

She moved backwards, away from Lucius slowly, knowing that there was no escape. He drew his wand once again and pointed it at her. "The Cruciatus Curse, Miss Granger," Lucius repeated, "You try and escape your fate once more and you'll taste its full power. Your third warning..." Lucius' cruel smile returned to his face, "well, it'll simply be the curse itself." Hermione froze and she lay back. "Good," Lucius said, putting his wand away. He knelt beside her and, as promised, put his body between her and the rest of the Death Eaters. He then looked down at her, and although his eyes were cold, they carried with them a potentially fatal spark of doubt. Hermione looked back at him, silently willing him to do what was needed, but unable to keep the doubt out of her own eyes. 

In that moment, Hermione realized what the item in her pocket was and that it quite possibly carried both Lucius' salvation and his doom. Her heart turned over. At the same time, she felt Voldemort start his own assault on her psyche. It wasn't violent, but just a stealthy probing at the corners of her consciousness. Hermione suddenly knew what she had to do; she wasn't going to be able to resist Voldemort's Legilimency when he truly turned up the heat. Therefore, the only other option available to her was to create a situation in which her terror would be completely authentic and Lucius' participation would be assured. Perhaps he really _would_ be able to do it, but that wasn't good enough: with stakes this high, there was no margin for error on his part. That left her only one option: to use the stolen Prima Nocte in her pocket on Lucius without his consent.

"What are you waiting for?" Bellatrix asked Lucius gleefully. Hermione imagined that their hatred for one another had cooled only marginally in the 25 years that had elapsed since Purity Descending and that witnessing Lucius either take a Mudblood by force or fail in that task would please Bellatrix equally. Lucius turned to Bellatrix, his face dark with abhorrence, giving Hermione exactly the instant she needed to grab the Prima Nocte out of her pocket, while Lucius' attention was diverted. 

"I wish to make sure this Mudblood accepts her place of subservience to her betters," he answered as Hermione loosened the top of the potion bottle with one hand. She would have to be extra careful, because if she spilled any on herself, the game would be up. 

Lucius now looked to Voldemort, who watched him intently. "Lucius knows what's at stake should he fail," Voldemort said. When he spoke again, it was as if something had just occurred to him: "Incidentally, Draco should be back home by tonight and can join the assembled company and his place by my side. I imagine that information is of great comfort to Lucius' lovely, accommodating wife as well as himself, and can only help in this situation. Isn't that right, Lucius?" 

"It is of great solace, my lord," Lucius answered, taking care to keep his voice neutral. However, when he turned back to Hermione, the doubt in his eyes had only grown with this new information that raised the stakes even higher for him, doubt that only strengthened Hermione's resolve. Lucius distracted himself by taking Hermione's shoes off one at a time and tossing them aside. "I assume that they made you the Head Girl because someone thought you were clever. Thus, I'm assured that you won't try anything stupid, will you, Miss Granger?" He now unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. 

Hermione felt her eyes well up. She shook her head rapidly back and forth.

"Excellent. So glad we agree." Lucius now pulled her jeans down along with her underwear, and then off, leaving her bare from the waist down. As he had promised, he kept his body between the Death Eaters and her, but it was only of minuscule comfort. Lucius hand was placed next to hers, the only exposed skin, but it would be enough. It had to be enough. Hermione took the cap completely off the potion bottle, again being careful not to let a drop spill. It was now or never. _Forgive me, Lucius,_ she thought as she dumped the entire contents onto the back of his left hand. 

Hermione had to admire Lucius' discipline as only his eyes moved to his left hand: his head remained neutral, revealing nothing. She tilted the vial so he could read the label. As he did, his eyes widened in dismay for just a moment and then found hers. The betrayal that Hermione found there pierced her like the Final Knife itself. _Oh gods, what have I done?_ Hermione thought as fear injected itself deep into her gut and her heart sped up.

Just then, the full effect of the contact poison hit Lucius, an amount roughly three times as large as what he had given Hermione the day of the Vow. The worst part was that Lucius couldn't even try to fight it as Hermione had done, first because it was a massive dose, and second because doing so would blow their cover. In seconds, he had moved between her legs and used his knees to shove hers apart. Hermione made herself watch as Lucius used one hand to attend to his trousers and guide his cock between her parted thighs. Now in very real panic, she pushed against his chest with her hands, knowing that it was pointless and she had eliminated any choice but to allow this horrible event to happen; in fact, she was accountable for all of it. In response, Lucius grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head. 

Hermione wasn't acting as she struggled. She wasn't acting as she screamed when Lucius thrust into her unprepared body. She wasn't acting as tears spilled down her cheeks, watching Lucius lose that last scrap of humanity he had talked about as he tore into her. And she wasn't alone: as Lucius penetrated her body, Voldemort penetrated her mind. Hermione knew he would find nothing in there except very real agony and terror, so she she put up no defenses and let them both in. To Hermione's relief, uncovering no surprises, Voldemort left within minutes. She wasn't so lucky with Lucius. The more she cried out, the harder he pushed. The Death Eaters cheered Lucius on, but he was gone; as it was designed to do, the Prima Nocte negated his will in the matter of how he took Hermione, which she was counting on, but which was horrifying to experience. 

As Lucius had predicted, it was worse than the first time both in terms of pain and humiliation. In fact, it was worse than anything Hermione could have imagined and, unable to take any more, and assured that Voldemort was gone from her head, Hermione finally caught Lucius' eye and held his gaze for a split second. " _Gryffindor,_ " she whispered between sobs. The word broke through to him, shattering through the Prima-Nocte-fueled fury, and Lucius looked at her with alarm before he came, pulling his breath in rapidly between his teeth and wincing as if it was as painful for him as it was for her. Finished, he moved from between Hermione's legs and re-did his trousers, his breathing labored. He didn't look at her. Hermione closed her legs slowly, and then reached for her clothes. 

"Who's next?" Bellatrix shrieked, her eyes shining with excitement.

"No," Lucius said, his voice harsh with loathing, but whether for Bellatrix, for Hermione, for himself, or perhaps for all of the above, Hermione was unsure. "She's done."

"That's for the Dark Lord to decide, not you," Bellatrix retorted. 

Everyone, including Hermione, turned their attention to Voldemort, who had watched the scene play out and now looked at Lucius with mild astonishment. "Lucius, I must confess myself pleasantly surprised by your...dedication and newly-regained brutality. I may have underestimated your loyalty after all." Voldemort looked back at Bellatrix. "It is as my lieutenant says. He may keep the Mudblood as a prize until he tires of her, and then he may dispose of her as he sees fit."

"You do me great honor, my lord," Lucius said, bowing his head slightly, his hair partially covering his face.

Hermione didn't allow herself to feel relieved as she hastily put on her clothes and shoes; she deliberately kept her mind blank and numb just in case Voldemort wanted to poke around once more. Also, her victory was at an astronomical cost, one whose price was so high, she did not yet know it. 

Lucius stood. "I'll take her back to the dungeon personally, my lord," he said. 

"Very well, Lucius," Voldemort said, waving his hand dismissively. 

Lucius hauled Hermione to her feet and regained his vice grip on her arm before steering her to the dungeon. She found she had to lean against him due to the lancing, searing pain between her thighs and the shakiness in her legs. When they had moved out of earshot and towards the dungeon, Hermione let out a breath. "We did it," she whispered, looking up at Lucius. 

Lucius didn't answer, but his jaw tightened. He took her to the top of the stairs leading to the dungeon. When he got there, he dropped her arm and looked at her with deepest hatred. He was still breathing hard and it took him a moment to collect himself before he could speak. "There was no _we_ involved, Hermione." He took a deep breath. "What happened back there was no more than an atrocious breach of trust." He shook his head. "I am never, ever going to forgive you for what you just did," he said, his voice low. He drew his wand and performed a complex sequence with it. 

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Summoning a house elf, one I despise, who is, incidentally, the only one that can help."

"Dobby?" Hermione asked incredulously. "You're going to help us escape?" 

"That's one way to put it," Lucius said, his voice icy. "Another way to put it is that I am going to ensure that you leave my house and my life for good this time." 

Hermione felt a lump rise in her throat: this, then was the cost. "I did it for you," she said. "Look me in the eyes and tell me there was another way."

Lucius looked away and Hermione was shocked to see he was also near to breaking in grief, horror, and anguish. 

"What other way _was_ there, Lucius?" Hermione asked, her voice rising. "Tell me."

Lucius would not answer her, just steered her down the stairs to the dungeon. Ron, Harry, and Luna Lovegood waited at the bottom, behind a locked wrought-iron gate.

"What did you do to her?" Ron asked, his face furious and his ears bright red.

Lucius sighed, drawing the veil once again and becoming his Death Eater self. "I gave her something of tremendous value, Mr. Weasley," he answered with a smirk. Anyone but Hermione would have thought his demeanor authentic; knowing him so very well and loving him and hurting him revealed the small clues that, like so much else about him, this was yet another act.

"Yeah? And what was that?"

Lucius waved his wand to unlock the gate. "Some much-needed purity." He shoved Hermione in and closed the gate behind her, locking her in with the rest of them. 

To Hermione's surprise, it was Luna, dreamy, spacey, inconceivable Luna who spoke up. "How could you?" she screamed, her blue eyes filling with tears. Lucius regarded her as if she was no more than an annoying insect, before putting his wand away. "I hope you die in a fire!" Luna yelled. Lucius turned and walked back up the stairs as Luna continued to scream at him. "You'll rot in Hades for this! You'll burn in Hell, Lucius Malfoy! Sadistic, pure-blooded bastard..."

Hermione watched Lucius disappear, her body, her mind, and her heart in excruciating pain from what had just happened and the sickening finality of it all. She put her hand on Luna's arm. "That's enough, Luna," she said quietly. "He's gone. He's not coming back."


	22. 61: Lucius; 62: King of Serpents; 63: Brightest Darkness; 64: Judgement; 65: Redemption; Epilogue:Ouroboros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking closure regarding Hermione, Lucius turns to the fae for help.
> 
>  _Lucius sat up in bed, massaging his temples with both hands as he realized that things were actually getting worse every time he saw her. Merlin, but he_ hated _Hermione. His hatred burned brighter than ever, holding out longer than it ever had before for anyone else in his life, and Lucius had hated a lot of people. He knew from experience that after it cooled, it would become the far more comfortable icy negation of her existence. That Lucius could live with, but it just wasn't happening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in, guys: this is it. The grand finale or, as I like to call it, The Ballad of Lucius the Drama Llama. Dun-dun-DUN!
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and kudos-ing and commenting! Thank you also for committing to this monster of a work (which, fun fact, is officially longer than _Order of the Phoenix_ ). You all have been great. See you on the other side.

CHAPTER 61: LUCIUS

Lucius Malfoy sat in his own chair, in his own VIP lounge, drinking his own premium libations while he watched his own dancers perform their floor show. Ordinarily, the sight of the four flexible, nearly naked young women cavorting on the stage would at the very least entertain him, if not pique his interest in having any one of them, or possibly all four with a simple crook of his finger. It was, after all, his own club. Instead, Lucius looked around Patrona dispassionately, at the men and some women assembled in the audience. In watching them observing the dancers with lewd attention, Lucius realized that any one of these avid customers of his would give all the gold in Gringott's to switch places with him and enjoy some of the fantastic perks inherent in being him, including unnumbered, willing, nubile women at his beck and call. Unfortunately, none of it mattered to Lucius, not in that moment.

It had been almost two months since the Battle of Hogwarts and almost four months since Hermione had been dragged to Malfoy Manor under duress. The mood around Patrona had been particularly jovial since the fall of the Dark Lord, and every patron and dancer seemed to have returned to the Knockturn Alley nightclub with the volume turned up. Portia was more seductive, Xavier more sultry, and Yvonne, well...it would take a lot to get her down, but she was more bubbly and enthusiastic than ever. Yes, everyone seemed to have a new lease on life, everyone that is, except for Lucius himself. 

Lucius sighed and took another sip of his beverage, feeling somewhat disgusted with himself at this sorry display of gratuitous self-pity. After all, he had everything to be grateful for: against all odds, not only had he made it through the Second Wizarding War alive and more or less unscathed, so had Narcissa and Draco. Beyond that, Lucius had narrowly escaped another incarceration by unhesitatingly rolling over on every single Death Eater he could think of, well and truly washing his hands of the entire role. Even his Dark Mark had faded. His capitulation with the Auror Department combined with a healthy infusion of Galleons from the Malfoy Gringott's vault into the new wing of St. Mungo's had even kept Lucius from another tiresome stint in Azkaban.

Indeed, naught but fortune had graced him, and yet Lucius could do nothing to shake the feeling of heaviness that dragged at his heart, his mind, and his spirit. He did everything possible to distract himself, spending long evenings at Patrona and long days at the Ministry. Whether he was bathing his fingers or his cock in Portia's intimate places, or traveling further and further afield for his job, these diversions worked only on a limited basis. Also, they had been less and less effective lately for keeping Lucius' dark mood at bay, as if he was building up a tolerance.

Lucius knew at least in part what was wrong and could grudgingly confess to himself that aspect of his life from which he attempted to distance himself. Although he was doing his best to forget her, he had seen Hermione several times since involuntarily raping her and throwing her in his dungeon. First, he had seen her when Dobby broke her and the rest of the captives out of Malfoy Manor. Seeing Hermione then had been something Lucius had expected; in that instance, it was not concerning, a nagging twinge at worst; mostly he was still numb from the entire wretched experience.

The second time Lucius had seen Hermione was at the Battle of Hogwarts. She had been going somewhere in a hurry with Ron Weasley, down the stairs, and if Lucius didn't know any better, he would say they were headed for the Chamber of Secrets. It would have been valuable information for the Dark Lord, but Lucius said nothing. Lucius had told Hermione that he couldn't openly declare against the Dark Lord, and it was true, but he could do everything in his power to undermine both the Dark Lord and the mission. Fortunately for Lucius, Voldemort weakened as each Horcrux was destroyed, becoming more self-obsessed and paying Lucius less and less attention, making it progressively easier for Lucius to sabotage the mission in any way he could. In any event, with both of himself and Hermione distracted with the battle, again, at that time, Lucius had not given her much thought.

The third time Lucius saw Hermione was after he, Voldemort, and the other Death Eaters had left the Forbidden Forest with Harry Potter and everyone had assembled in the courtyard before the final showdown between Potter and the Dark Lord. There had been no time to dwell on Hermione at that point as Lucius was still reeling from the fact that his own wife had lied to the Dark Lord's face about Potter, all to find and save Draco. Little did Narcissa, or anyone really, know that her split-second thinking, impenetrable Occlumency, and incredibly brave act would turn the tide of the battle and thus the war so dramatically. While he knew that his wife had almost preternatural ferocity where Draco was concerned, Lucius certainly would never have predicted her fearless decision. Therefore, Lucius had no room for any other feeling except gratitude and pride for Narcissa, so seeing Hermione at that point was secondary, once again a minor twinge. 

Because of that, following the Battle of Hogwarts, whether he was in denial or not, Lucius had himself pretty well convinced that he was over Hermione. He and Narcissa even had a brief renewal of their own relationship, which was pleasant while it lasted. However, inevitably the honeymoon endured for only so long; Bellatrix was dead and Narcissa had been forced to deal with her own complex reaction to that outcome, just as Lucius was dealing with the grief over losing his old friend Severus. After a while, also, Lucius found that he couldn't stand any hints of domination from Narcissa, whether in the bedroom or out of it: Lucius had had his fill of women who thought they knew what was right for him above his own desires. After he had come to that realization, things had cooled between them. They were reasonably pleasant to each other, but not as close as they had been in the immediate aftermath of the Dark Lord's fall.

Another problem was that Lucius couldn't really talk to Narcissa about what had happened with Hermione. He knew that Narcissa had left while the crime was being committed and really, he'd just as soon Narcissa not witness it anyway. At least Lucius had possessed the presence of mind to tell her that Hermione had released him from the Vow prior to the incident so Narcissa wouldn't have to worry about his safety. If Narcissa hadn't been convinced that he had ended it with Hermione on Christmas Day, surely Hermione's brutal treatment at Lucius' hands in front of the Dark Lord himself and the worst of the worst Death Eaters would convince her that his and Hermione's relationship was well and truly over. 

Still, it wasn't as if Lucius could share his feelings about the matter. There was no chance he could tell Narcissa the truth: that he had allowed Hermione his cock remotely a mere day before she was snatched, nor that he had saved her from her own authentic rape by Scabior mere moments before her counterfeit rape by Lucius himself, and certainly not that they had had a tender conversation just before. However, Lucius had foolishly come clean about Hermione using Prima Nocte on him. Telling Narcissa brought everything to a head, and quickly. When Lucius had let that tidbit slip, Narcissa had folded her arms and glared at him. "And who, pray tell, brewed the Prima Nocte in the first place?" she asked.

Lucius found he couldn't maintain her gaze. "I did," he said, looking at the floor instead.

Narcissa made an annoyed noise, but didn't say anything.

Lucius looked back up at her, unsurprised to find her face completely devoid of compassion. "She used it against _me_ , remember," he snapped.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Oh, what a _victim_ you are, Lucius," she had said, every word dripping with disdain. "And what an easy route you always take: if you're chronically innocent, as you clearly believe yourself to be, as usual you may exonerate yourself of any responsibility. Congratulations." At this, she clapped her hands slowly, the shrew. 

"You think it's been easy?" he hissed, stung. No one in his life could get his back up as assuredly and efficiently as Narcissa could, with the possible exception of Hermione.

Narcissa sneered. "I don't care a whit if it's easy or not: perhaps it's not supposed to be easy. In any event, you'll get no sympathy from me. I told you months ago to break your affair with her off before it got you or our family killed. I told you as well that the Dark Lord was going to make you rape, torture, or kill her. I also told you that you owed it to her to spare her all of it." She sighed, softening a bit. "I didn't want to be right, but dammit, Lucius..." Narcissa shook her head, her mouth set in a line. "I _warned_ you and you didn't listen." She looked at him down her nose. "Besides, you have a lot of nerve complaining to your wife over your hurt feelings regarding your mistress." 

Of course Narcissa was right, and what was worse, she knew it. She left a week later, to go and attempt to mend her relationship with her sister Andromeda. It was a bold move and Lucius didn't envy her the journey; after all the wounds of the past, moving on would be difficult for both the living Black sisters in many ways. On the other hand, Lucius' sense of well-being increased marginally with Narcissa out of the house: their relationship was currently riddled with strife. The truth was, although they had a strong alliance, and they did love each other in some way, they had cut each other too early, too often, and too deeply, inflicting wounds throughout their relationship that would never truly heal.

Things had gone slightly better with Draco, who had returned for the Battle of Hogwarts. After, he stayed at Malfoy Manor, during which time he and Lucius maintained a careful truce. One day, while Lucius was sitting in his office, catching up on correspondence both received and in need of sending, he heard a knock at his door. "Come," he commanded.

Draco entered, shutting the door behind him. "I need to speak with you, father," he said.

Lucius looked up at him. "What is it?" 

"I read your letter." Draco looked at the carpet and pushed at it with a toe.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean the letter that I expressly told you only to read in the event of my death?" he asked, irritated. Draco really could not follow simple instructions.

"Yes, father, and I'm glad I did." Draco met his eyes now and although his voice was quiet, it carried with it an authority that had not been present prior to his departure from Malfoy Manor a year prior. 

Lucius sighed. In reality, part of him expected this, and he wrote the letter's contents to allow for the possibility that Draco would not be able to resist reading them. Lucius had confessed to manipulating Draco's expulsion and subsequent exile for the purposes of protecting him from Voldemort and of course, stated that he loved Draco. "And?" Lucius finally asked.

"I'd like to return to Hogwarts and finish both my 7th year and my NEWT exams," Draco said, his eyes once more on the carpet. "I've already written a letter to Headmistress McGonagall asking to return and apologizing for my reprehensible behavior, as well as promising not to engage in anything of the kind again should I be allowed to return." He took a deep breath. "She has already written me back with a tentative acceptance, providing that you, too, write her a letter of validation of this decision. So I guess what I'm asking is..." he looked back at Lucius, a small spark of hope in his gray eyes, "will you please write it for me?" 

Lucius studied him for a moment, feeling proud of his son for stating what he wanted, taking responsibility for the things he had done, even though they had been done at Lucius' command, and not hiding any more. "Of course, Draco," Lucius had said.

Draco had smiled tentatively before leaving. Now Draco was back at Hogwarts, and Lucius was alone at Malfoy Manor with nothing but his own thoughts and thus demons to keep him company. He still thought of Hermione; how could he not? However, Lucius too believed that their affair was well and truly over but then, a mere two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, just as Lucius was drifting off to sleep, in his mind he heard the whispered incant _Iniciaris_. His eyes flew open. It had been a big enough shock back in February when Hermione had done it to him, and at that point, he was grateful for the respite, as by then Voldemort had been at his house for two months and anything to distract from that precarious position was welcome. 

Hearing it now, however, was a different matter altogether, after everything that had happened and with what Lucius had believed was a very final break. So there he lay, the incant echoing in his mind, waiting for his Acceptio. Lucius tightened his jaw, admittedly tempted, especially with Narcissa gone, but resolved not to give in. Eventually the incant faded, and Lucius closed his eyes once more. Unfortunately, now the mental picture of Hermione fucking her own beautiful pussy with the silver dildo was solidly fixed in Lucius' mind. He could picture it as easily as if she was lying right in front of him, her creamy thighs spread wide, her breasts rising and falling with each shaky breath and her lower lip caught between her teeth as she approached orgasm. 

Now Lucius was rock-hard and he had little choice but to throw the covers off angrily and go into his office. He took out his wand and cast Alohamora, unlocking one of the drawers. Inside was the picture that had started the entire, Merlin-forsaken mess. He set his wand on the desk and the picture down next to it, and then he watched himself plow Hermione from behind, becoming the first man to enter her and later, make her come. Not even Hermione had unlocked her own body's secret ways of pleasure prior to that day: it had been Lucius from the outset. For that, Hermione had been so grateful and had expressed that gratitude in multiple, delightful ways with her eager body. She had craved his caresses, his skill, his cock, and had subsequently come alive under his touch. With this unhelpful little reminder, now Lucius' cock was throbbing. 

Sighing in exasperation, Lucius undid the drawstring of his trousers and clasped a hand around his erection. As he stroked himself, he reflected that he should have just accepted Hermione's invitation; he was virtually doing the same thing now and really, it was six of one and half a dozen of the other. Besides, casting Acceptio felt miles better than his hand did. _No,_ he told himself, _then she'll think there's still some hope of you two together, when there's not...correct?_ Unable to answer, he took one more glance at the picture, picked up the pace, and came as quietly as he possibly could. After cleaning up after himself, Lucius went back to bed and fell asleep.

The fourth time he saw her was at the Ministry a few weeks after that. Hermione was walking down the Floo hall, which was massed with people, but she definitely saw him, and he her. For her part, Hermione blushed scarlet and, as Lucius had pictured, bit her lower lip, her eyes wide. Lucius felt his cock stir, able to read her thoughts as easily as if he were doing Legilimency on her. She was likely mortified at the idea that she had asked to pleasure herself in his name and with his remote participation and that at best, he had ignored her, and at worst, he had rejected her. He could also see the longing there, and now his ego stirred as well. Lucius rewarded her with a cold look, before passing by her without saying a word.

That night, the same thing happened again. He lay in bed attempting to fall asleep and he heard _Iniciaris_ again in his mind. He almost said the counter-incant, catching himself just in time. Again, the picture of Hermione masturbating with the gift he had given her sprung unbidden to his imagination. Lucius' name would be on her parted lips, the toy stretching the diameter of her cunt as she saturated it with her desire. Lucius felt another wholly unwelcome erection. He rolled over in bed, determined to ignore it this time. It would go away eventually, with or without his help; granted, with his help would be faster, but definitely less healthy for his mental state. After all, he had a modicum of discipline. He could master this. 

After a short period of time in which he purposefully diverted his thoughts away from Hermione, Lucius fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, he was outside the conservatory of Malfoy Manor. A thrill of dread entered his abdomen as he heard the slap and then the cry that had haunted his dreams for over three decades. He reached for the doorknob, even though every sense was screaming at him not to do it, because he knew the horror that lay on the other side. Unable to stop in his dream, as in real life, he opened the door.

At first glance, it did indeed appear that Lucius was seeing his father and Robena March, as he had countless other times, as the two figures were dressed the same and were standing in the same respective places. On closer inspection, however, Lucius noted with horror that it was actually Hermione bent over with her skirt over her hips and he himself positioned behind her, one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her hip, as Hermione whimpered. He pushed the door open all the way and Hermione looked at him in much the same way Robena had. "Help me, Lucius. Please." 

"It's not a choice," Lucius said from the door, already knowing how the scene played out.

The other Lucius smiled coldly as he kept Hermione pinned down, not yet entering her, but certainly threatening it. "Of course it's a choice. It's a choice now. It was a choice then. And you chose wrong. You've always chosen wrong." The doppelganger thrust suddenly into Hermione and she screamed in the same manner that she had when Lucius had taken her on the floor in Malfoy Manor in front of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Lucius woke up with a start. He sat up and wiped the cold sweat from his upper lip with one shaking hand. 

Rattled, he got out of bed again. He could feel a headache starting. He threw on a dressing gown, went down the hall to his office, and poured himself a drink. Lucius then sat in his office chair and sipped his beverage, feeling somewhat more mellow as the alcohol did its job of calming him and easing the nightmare from his mind. Once more, he took out the picture of himself and Hermione and looked at it, burning with resentment and although he hated to admit it even to himself, the beginnings of desire, unanswered from earlier that night. Lucius' antipathy stemmed from the fact that all of this was Hermione's fault: the nightmares, the temptation of her pleasure, her very existence, and the fact that she just wouldn't get out of his head. 

Lucius took another pull from his glass and looked around his dim office as the alcohol warmed his throat. He knew just what he would do. The next time he saw Hermione in the Ministry, walking down the hallway, blushing, looking unaccountably guilty, he would take her by the arm and steer her somewhere private, perhaps an abandoned office. He would then give her a stern talking to about not letting go and about stringing him along with her thrice-damned Iniciaris. She would look at him miserably, _but I can't help it; I'm still just so wet for you, Lucius,_ she would say, _all the time. You don't believe me? Let me show you..._

Lucius shook his head at this unfortunate and ridiculous left turn his narrative seemed to have taken. Although he didn't really want to go there, he found himself unable to stop its trajectory as his cock stiffened and now demanded his attention where earlier it had merely asked politely. In his fantasy, at this point, Hermione would lift her skirt, put her tight rear end on the desk and scoot herself back, lean on her elbows and spread her legs. She wouldn't do this with any art or seduction, just with pleading in her eyes, a woman with a burning need that only his cock would satisfy. She would move her underwear impatiently to the side, flick her clit once or twice because in the time Lucius had known her, Hermione had never been able to resist that particular temptation, and then she would use her fingers to spread herself apart. When she did, Lucius would see that yes, indeed, she was as wet as he could possibly want. _Please, Lucius,_ she would beg him, _make it stop. Make me come._

_One last time, Hermione,_ Lucius would say through clenched teeth. _And then we're truly done._ He wouldn't kiss her. He wouldn't finger her. He wouldn't taste her. She deserved no such refinements. He would just get straight to business, bury himself up to the hilt in her, and fuck her on the desk, his hands positioned under her knees, lifting them so he could drive in deep. He'd move slowly at first just to drive her mad and then faster until she screamed his name as she came again...and again...and again. Before he knew it, Lucius had his cock in his hand and was right where he had been the previous time. 

The fifth time he saw Hermione was another day in the Ministry several weeks after that. She was talking with a co-worker in the main atrium. Lucius quickly did his trick of disappearing in plain sight and watched her go by. He knew that if he pulled her to the side to talk to her, there was a risk of it playing out exactly how he had pictured it. As much as that eventuality filled him with unseemly interest, it was not the right choice for either of them. 

Despite his efforts that day, when night fell, Lucius heard _Iniciaris_ again. This time he didn't fight it; although he didn't accept, he got up and immediately fed the beast, coming quickly in an attempt to stave off any worse outcomes. It was no good, as when he fell asleep, he dreamed that he was back in Malfoy Manor, and Hermione struggled underneath him as Voldemort and the other Death Eaters looked on. Once more, Lucius woke in a cold sweat. _I did it for you,_ Hermione had said. What a lie that had been; she had done it because she didn't trust him, plain and simple, and she wanted to cover her own rear end. 

Lucius sat up in bed, massaging his temples with both hands as he realized that things were actually getting worse every time he saw her and every time she cast her spell. Merlin, but he _hated_ Hermione. His hatred burned brighter than ever, holding out longer than it ever had before for anyone else in his life, and Lucius had hated a lot of people. He knew from experience that after it cooled, it would become the far more comfortable icy negation of her existence. That Lucius could live with, but it just wasn't happening: his hatred had become a white-hot ball that had lodged itself between his abdomen and, if he was honest, his cock. There it sat, radiating poison throughout his entire being, poison like Prima Nocte, as an example. Thinking about that made Lucius even angrier, although he dared not dwell on it; the memory was simply too painful, still too raw, even after four months.

And so it went, over and over. Hermione was persistent with her Iniciaris, using it every few days, never seeming to give up. Lucius resolutely ignored it, but reflected that the fault was his to some extent because he had given her the damned toy in the first place and that he had never actually ordered her to cease and desist in its use. The dreams continued, the resentful fantasizing and masturbation continued, and as a result, the hatred he felt for her could not dissipate. 

That was the problem: Lucius' hatred and his desire were inextricably linked. This would play out in the fantasies he would have about Hermione: stripping her naked, bending her over his knee and using the flat of his hand to hit her bare arse until it turned red and she begged him to stop. Then, when she could withstand no more, he would plunge his fingers deep into her as she writhed in ecstasy, moving them faster and faster before pulling back at the last second and having her wail in frustration as she soaked him to the wrist. In Lucius' imagination, he always punished her; and Hermione always desired him, and begged him for forgiveness and mercy, neither of which he would grant her. 

Now, as Lucius sat in Patrona, getting bitterly intoxicated, he realized that he was completely gridlocked. Something had to give, but he had no idea what and he found that the indecision that erroded his self-assurance was as noisome as every other thing. His default state was absolute control, particularly over his own emotions. On a typical day, he was coldly pragmatic, calculating, and confident. Since Hermione had started asking for his remote pleasure and he had felt himself compelled to acquiesce to it, Lucius had lost that fundamental aspect of his personality upon which he prided himself and indeed, relied. Oh, he could pretend and fake otherwise, but the truth was, he felt disconcertingly volatile, which would manifest as irritability and sudden flashes of anger over which he seemed to have little power. 

And then, in Patrona, Lucius heard it again over the noise of the crowd and the deep thrum of the bass in the music, a siren call even more compelling than his provocative dancers with their enchanted, color-changing ostrich-feather fans... _Iniciaris_. Lucius could feel his jaw tighten. He snapped his fingers and Xavier, who stood impassively at the top of the stairs, responded quickly. Lucius beckoned him down and made a whispered request in his ear. 

Minutes later, Lucius' cock was sliding smoothly between Yvonne's parted lips as she knelt in front of him, as cheerful about taking him in her mouth as she was about everything else. Lucius kept his mind deliberately blank as he wound his fingers into Yvonne's dark, curly hair. She sped up, added in first one hand and then two, as professional as she was eager, while a guttural moan escaped her throat. Lucius breathed in deep as Yvonne brought his pleasure forth. Now Lucius tipped his head back and closed his eyes as Yvonne eased him closer to climax. It was a mistake, because as soon as he did, Hermione came to his mind; now she was the one to kneel in front of him dutifully. As usual, when she entered his thoughts, she was all desire for him and contrition for her crimes as she bestowed her own oral gifts. _I'm sorry,_ she would purr against the head of his cock before taking it once again in her mouth, her hands fervently working the shaft and her eyes finding his, her desire for absolution clearly present in those liquid pools of velvety brown. _Please forgive me._

_Never,_ Lucius thought with gratifying spite as he spent himself in Yvonne's willing and skilled mouth, feeling his cum spurt warm over her tongue and throat as she moaned again. Yvonne swallowed as Lucius released her hair. She remained kneeling in front of him, one hand still on his cock. Gently, she lapped the last few drops of semen from the tip. "Anything else, Mr. Malfoy?" she eventually asked, smiling.

Lucius returned her smile; she really was quite charming. "No, Yvonne, that was perfect," he said, running the back of his hand down her cheek and then his thumb over her bottom lip, her mouth still beautifully swollen and glossy from her efforts. "Thank you." 

"Sure!" She stood up, bounced across the black carpet of the VIP lounge and then back down the stairs. He watched her go, making a mental note to buy her something pretty. 

Lucius then saw to his trousers, his sexual tension relieved. He felt the smile fade as he realized it was cold comfort as it was the only thing about him that had let go. Still inexplicably frustrated, he drained the rest of his drink and stood. He paused for a moment to assess whether or not he was too intoxicated to Apparate. He decided he was not, so he pulled on his cloak, exited Patrona, and Disapparated back to Malfoy Manor. 

The adult beverages and the well-performed blow job thankfully ensured a peaceful night's sleep. Feeling marginally better the following morning, Lucius went to work, his mind made up. In his office, he sat down at his desk, got out a piece of parchment and a quill. Without hesitating, he started to write, determined to keep it short and to the point, but still civil:

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I couldn't help but notice that you have tried to reach out to me several times over the last few weeks. This is both unwelcome to me and unhelpful to both of us. At this time, even though I'm aware that it is frightfully bad form, I must insist that your return to me the gift that I gave you as I fear you may be abusing it._

_Respectfully,_

_Lucius Abraxus Malfoy_

_P.S., you may use inter-office mail if it would be convenient._

Lucius read the note once, nodded in satisfaction that it communicated his needs clearly but without undue malice, and then rolled it up before sealing it and giving it to Imelda to deliver. Thinking no more about the matter, he got through his day well enough, feeling lighter than he had over the past few weeks. He had one more meeting, this one with Magical Games and Sports as another Quidditch World Cup was coming up later that summer. It was uneventful, mundane even, but when Lucius returned to his office that evening, an oblong package waited for him, perfectly centered on his desk.

No note accompanied the package, but the wrapping said _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_. Lucius raised an eyebrow, surprised that Hermione had responded as quickly as she had. The thought that she too was ready to move on filled him with ambivalence. On one hand, it would be a relief to get on with his life and stop being tormented night after night, but at the same time, the thought that it was truly the end with Hermione Granger was a depressing one, particularly with his marriage having soured. 

Ultimately, though, it was for the best. Sighing deeply, Lucius broke the seal on the package and unwrapped it. The same black box in which the dildo had arrived greeted him. His heart heavy, and knowing this was truly the end and he'd never know her touch again, Lucius slowly removed the lid and moved the black tissue paper out of the way. When he saw what was actually in the box, his eyes widened and he felt his abdomen contract in shock. What lay inside wasn't the dildo at all; it was the silver dragon blood. 

Lucius heard his pulse pounding in his ears. Hermione had deliberately misinterpreted his instructions and had pulled a fast one with her clever, devious mind. No doubt she was one floor below him, laughing at this latest in a long series of dirty tricks she had waged against him. Lucius' fists clenched on either side of the box as his now-common volatility threatened to consume him. He wanted to throw the silver dragon blood against a wall and watch the red glass shatter into a thousand tiny shards, letting the priceless substance evaporate in a crimson puff of smoke. Instead, Lucius took a long breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth and forced himself to relax just a bit and not let Hermione have that much control over his emotions. He then took the reagent bottle out and set it on his desk before getting out a scale and setting it there as well. 

To be fair, Lucius had not been specific in his missive to Hermione, so that part was on him, although he never would have dreamed that she would make this particular choice. On the other hand, he recalled Hermione saying to him at one point, _I can follow the letter of the law if not the spirit._ Her hand had been deep in her underwear at the time, doing Merlin-only-knew-what with her wicked fingers, but whatever it was, she simply became more excited and ready for him to stick his-- _No. I'm not doing that, not now,_ he thought firmly. Mouth set in a grim line, Lucius put the memory from his mind. The other aspect that had likely informed Hermione's decision was that Lucius had not confronted her in person; Hermione could have taken his letter as a deliberate slight at worst, and as cowardly behavior from him at best, and was consequently punishing him for it. Either way, it rankled, and the fact that she had outsmarted him yet again fanned the flames of Lucius' wrath. 

To distract himself, he put the reagent bottle on the scale and did some quick calculations in his head. Less the weight of the bottle, there were 754 grams of powder left, exactly what there had been on Christmas Day: Hermione had used none of it. Lucius calculated its worth as just over 1.1 million Galleons. Lucius hadn't sold any for a while, so the number might have been even higher, but it didn't matter. The connotation of Hermione's decision was the same: that the magical silver sex toy was worth a seven-digit number for her to retain in her possession. 

Lucius sat in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth as he studied the red bottle sitting on the scale. Yes, Hermione's choice was cruel indeed, but what if there was more to it? He had been so consumed in his hate for her that he had lost any semblance of empathy. Not that he had ever been burdened by empathy in general, but failing to see the situation from anyone's point of view but his own was at the very least a grave error of critical thinking. With that in mind, Lucius thought about the events of the last few weeks with detached appraisal. Hermione used the sex toy with almost punctual regularity, and had invited him to join her over and over again, not gainsayed in the slightest by Lucius' tacit refusal to participate. 

On the other hand, she had pushed him in no other ways: had not attempted to talk to him, had not sent him any notes or letters, had never actually begged for his forgiveness nor had asked anything else of him in the slightest. Her Iniciaris was an offer, nothing more, that he was free to accept or decline. It was Lucius himself that had given the question as much power over him as it did; Hermione was simply asking that question of him. In fact, Lucius had been the one to make the first demand. In response, Hermione had given up an amount of silver dragon blood that would have, as Lucius had told her, set her up for life rather than relinquishing her one remaining connection to him. Lucius dropped his hands as epiphany hit him: whether or not she was torturing him on purpose, Hermione still wanted him in some capacity or possibly even still loved him. Against all odds, and despite all the horror of what had transpired in Malfoy Manor, she still wanted to be with him, even through the proxy bond of the gift. 

But did he want to be with her? Lucius possessed a strong sexual desire for her; he had since the very beginning and if the last few weeks were any indication, that desire had no intention of abating. Even after the war had ended, but before Hermione had started calling for him, her image would still spring unbidden to Lucius' mind when he was with Narcissa or even Portia. He was able to control it to some extent, but he was irretrievably drawn to Hermione, even before she had started tormenting him, and once she had, his control had become almost non-existent. He looked around his office, realizing that he missed her company as well, her wry humor, her indignation at his quips, and her ability to match his own wits. The sticking point, really, was the reprehensible decision on her part to douse him with his own Prima Nocte and his subsequent inability to forgive her for that.

Lucius sighed. He had told Hermione that it wasn't in his nature to be forgiving, but like so many other things he had told her, it was only half of the truth. Moreover, in Hermione's case, he wasn't even sure he wanted to forgive her. Every time he even considered it, he would think about her distrust in him and lack of faith in his abilities. He would recall the way she had looked at him, had screamed, had struggled, and had finally used her safe word as he took her whilst a slave to the effects of the Prima Nocte and his heart would harden. Lucius couldn't stop thinking of her, and so could not move on, nor could he forgive her with the intention of starting back up with her. Therefore, once again, he found himself at an impasse. 

CHAPTER 62: KING OF SERPENTS

In his office, Lucius stood and walked over to his enchanted windows, his eyes sweeping over the moss-covered logs of the Bialowieza Forest. He hadn't been able to tell Hermione, or anyone, the truth about his dealings with the fae that lived there, but his accord with them had everything to do with his inability to forgive her, as well as the serpents on his chest. As far as his body art was concerned, there was only one time a machine had ever touched his flesh, its tight groupings of reciprocating needles burning into him: the now-destroyed _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_. That had been rendered in Knockturn Alley the day Lucius had turned 17, by a grizzled codger named Darrin Elmwood who worked left-handed and claimed, probably falsely, to have tattooed Gellert Grindelwald himself. The serpents, on the other hand, were all induced by fae magic, as painful as the machine had been, but faster and with a far different meaning. Lucius let his mind wander back into his past as he watched the aspen leaves flicker with the passing breeze out the window.

When that had happened, Lucius was 21 years old. He was already a follower of Voldemort and had already been Marked by the same, committing his life and soul to the Dark Lord. Lucius was one of the youngest Death Eaters ever Marked, and the Dark Lord considered him a prodigy, praising his cunning, his ruthlessness, and his gift for strategy. Yes, Lucius was rising quickly through the ranks, but it wasn't enough to be the presumed lieutenant to the Dark Lord; Lucius wanted to be the ultimate warlock, an unstoppable harbinger of death. For Lucius, merely wanting to kill was insufficient: he wanted each of his kills to be without flaw, particularly as his meteoric arc in Voldemort's service had already won him more than a few enemies along the way, both Light and Dark. 

That was where the fae came in. Lucius' family had had dealings with the fae historically, but when his father was still alive, he had warned Lucius about the dangers of engaging with them: "They take everything very literally, Lucius, things like names, as an example," his father said, for once devoid of his usual scorn and sarcasm, "and they take promises quite gravely. If you lie to them, they will see to it that you pay for it for eternally." Undeterred, Lucius had grilled everyone he knew about the fae, and had read every book he could get his hands on about the Seelie and Unseelie royalty and courts, as well as the Bialowieza Forest. 

Lucius never told Voldemort what he planned on doing: he knew the Dark Lord would not approve. Even Voldemort steered clear of the fae; they were too unpredictable and he had no use for anything or anyone that he couldn't control. In any case, to Lucius' mind, what he planned to do in seeking out the fae was one of those secrets that would lose its chance of success with disclosure to anyone. Also, Lucius had only forseen one of three outcomes for leaving the Realm of Merlin and entering the Realm of Morgaine: either he would die in the attempt, he would get lost in that world and never come back, or he would come back as an even more deadly weapon for the Dark Lord's arsenal. Of course, he was counting on the last; in fact, he was certain of it.

Lucius shook his head at the memory, half-smiling; he had been all hard cock and powerful wand at that point in his life, even more arrogant and self-assured than he was now. It was a good thing too, because there would have been no way he could have Apparated into a seven-fold ley line convergence had there been any doubt in his mind as to whether or not he could do it. Lucius continued to research and learn what he could, preparing himself for his journey. Because he yearned for destructive power, Lucius decided to go at midnight on the Winter Solstice, with a waning moon. 

Even with the confidence of strapping youth, Lucius still hedged his bets. On the night he chose, he went into his father's study (now his since his father's death), and had gone into the attic to retrieve the infamous Malfoy supply of concentrated, powdered silver dragon blood. Just as he had done in his study this day, young Lucius had set it on the desk in its red reagent bottle and had placed next to it a mirror, a 1000-Galleon promissory note, and a single-edged razor. Feeling rather rebellious (which was absurd: like the office, it was now _his_ silver dragon blood), Lucius had then broken the Malfoy-crested golden seal. Using a long-handled silver sundae spoon, Lucius had gotten out a tiny amount and tapped it onto the mirror with a gentle clink. He sat down in the desk chair and used the razor to scrape the fine crimson powder into a line before rolling the promissory note into a thin tube. Without hesitating he put his hair over one shoulder, leaned down, breathed out carefully so as not to disturb the priceless substance, and then quickly inhaled the entire line of silver dragon powder up his nose through the note, holding his other nostril closed with a finger. 

The powder made his eyes water and coated the back of his throat, making it burn. A metallic taste filled his mouth. Sniffing and rubbing his profoundly irritated nose, Lucius sat back in the office chair and took out his wand. For a moment, he thought it hadn't worked. Although he was no stranger to enhancing his experiences with substances both magical and Muggle, he had never used silver dragon powder as such, so didn't know its effects empirically, only what his education had told him about it. Lucius did know that it could kill him, step over his corpse and piss on his grave within seconds of using it and also knew that it was so costly that he didn't dare do it while his father was alive, although he had always been curious. In that moment, Lucius just blinked, fighting the urge to rub his eyes, knowing it would make the tearing worse.

And then it hit him. It wasn't a gentle lull like ethanol, mellowing him and making him by turns entertained and amorous. It also wasn't a fortunate series of events like Felix Felicis, filling him with good humor and casual assertion. No, it was a Bludger to the face, a racing broom with no braking charm, a screaming orgasm to shatter fine crystal, an inoculation of birth and death and fucking and casting magic all concentrated at the same time. Lucius stood with his wand clasped in his hand, the silver dragon blood racing down every nerve fiber, blocking the passage of every sluggish or placid neurotransmitter and letting through only ones that gave him speed and strength and virility and of course, magic. 

Oh, Merlin, he could have cast anything and he wanted to, but he managed to rein in his focus on the one thing he actually needed to do. Wand in hand, Lucius closed his eyes and concentrated. Powered by the remarkable substance, he could actually see the two ley lines converging underneath Malfoy Manor. They were a bright, glowing, silvery-white like frozen lightning, each pulsing at a different rate. Upon closer inspection, he saw that runes flowed in them like red blood cells in an artery. He couldn't help but wonder who had written them and then put them there. Was it a wizard, or some incredibly powerful, ancient god? Sadly, even silver dragon blood could not yield up that answer. 

Lucius eventually gave up and pulled back in his mind higher and higher into the air, now over the manor house, watching the ley lines reach north-south and east-west, first just in Wiltshire, and then in England as he widened his gaze. He pulled back further, pressure building in his mind as he over-clocked the potency of his own magic with the silver dragon blood, searching the ley lines. Now Lucius could see the other convergences, not just in England, but across the Channel and into Europe. The further he got and the more ley lines he could see, the more pressure built behind his eyes, his sinuses, and his mind. Lucius looked east towards Russia and Poland as his blood roared in his ears, the ley lines glowing brighter as more and more of them met. He felt something warm dripping out of his nose and off his lower lip onto the desk. He grit his teeth and applied all his will to his task. Just as he felt like his mind might explode, Lucius finally counted the seven that formed the sacred convergence in the Bialowieza Forest. Not giving himself a moment to doubt, he opened his eyes and Disapparated. 

His world exploded into shards of light, color and sound. He had Apparated dozens if not hundreds of times but it had never been like this. It wasn't as if his life flashed in front of his eyes, but he saw things that had happened long ago: his father breaking Lucius' toy wand over his knee when Lucius misbehaved and Lucius being sorted into Slytherin. He also saw things that had not yet happened: himself bouncing a blond baby on his lap as the baby laughed and looked at him with adoration in his gray eyes and himself sitting despondent in a prison cell. All these scenes of his own life were interspersed with random images, a serpent shedding its skin, a glass orb shattering on a flagstone stone floor to release an iridescent turquoise butterfly, purple sparkling potion running backwards into a bottle that sealed itself. The images came faster and once again Lucius felt the pressure build in his head, more quickly this time, building to an intolerable crescendo before everything went dark.

Minutes or perhaps millenia later, Lucius opened his eyes, finding himself across from the verdant bank of dark pool. He lay on his side and the moss under his cheek was splashed with red, no doubt from his own blood. His head felt like it was splitting and as he slowly sat up, he decided right then and there that he would never use silver dragon blood again. Still, he could ignore the pain in his head, as he was absolutely assured that he had been successful. He was in the Bialowieza Forest, and had transported himself to the realm of the fae. The air was palpably different, not only because it was no longer winter, but that the very atmosphere sparkled with magic, which stood in direct opposition from what Lucius was used to. Merlinic magic was ordered, logical, and practical, replete with levels and categories. Fae magic, or Morgainic magic, was chaotic, organic, and primeval, with little sense or reason. It was a product of nature and thus irreducable from the forest itself, rather than a construct of humans. 

Lucius stood and crossed to the pool. It was clear enough that he could see the bottom of it, but noticed that the smooth, round stones at the bottom were all the same polished black, almost like obsidian. He crouched, looking at his own reflection. His face was a mess of dried blood, so he cupped his hand and dipped it into the dark water before using it to clean himself up. He did this several times, letting the diluted blood sluice back into the water. As it did, Lucius noted that the stones now looked different somehow. Because he had created ripples with his hands, it was difficult to surmise exactly how, but the stones looked less solid and round than they had prior. 

Lucius frowned and waited for the ripples to subside. As he did, he found that the forest suddenly seemed closer, darker, and warmer. Also, he could not shake the idea that he was being observed by something that did not necessarily have benevolent intent. He took a deep breath, resolved to remain cool and steady. As the water calmed, Lucius could see that the rocks had become coiled black serpents, each with bright eyes like shining pearls, all looking at him. 

Faster than he could have imagined, the serpents uncoiled and struck from beneath the surface of the water. They wrapped themselves around his arms and even as Lucius resisted, he heard them hiss, _we have tasted your blood, Light of Merlin, and we want more._ With that, they contracted and dragged him into the pool as _more, more, more_ echoed in his ears. Lucius tried hard not to panic, but his situation had quickly become emergent. He willed his heart to slow to use less oxygen as he certainly couldn't breathe. He also knew he couldn't cast magic without the express permission of the fae, so using it under the water for his own salvation was out of the question, even in such perilous circumstances. The serpents dragged him down and down, deeper and warmer and darker until all Lucius could see was their bright eyes. 

He forced himself to think, even as his lungs burned with the desire for a breath. _The fae take things literally_ ; that was what his father had said. Thinking quickly, Lucius took out a silver (not steel!) folding knife and sliced the back of his hand. Immediately, every pearlescent eye turned on where Lucius was sure his blood was now swirling into the water and the serpents released him. Now instead of sinking, he was stationary and then his body felt heavier and heavier as if the water was slowly turning back into air. Just as his vision was turning into colored snow, his feet met solid ground, and Lucius dared a breath. He would have liked one that was small, judicious, and experimental, but his lungs were too starved and so he took a giant gasp. Thankfully, even though it was dank and misty, it was definitely air and not water that now poured gratefully into Lucius' body.

His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness and when he turned around, he saw dozens of round, polished black stones behind him, where the snakes now reposed in shallow water, sated for having sampled Lucius' blood. Ahead of him was an earthen tunnel, large enough for a man to stand in. After he had recovered, Lucius started to move out. As he did, the light gradually returned and Lucius noticed more and more plants growing on the walls, mostly shade-loving vines and ivies. Eventually, he walked out into a clearing. 

The birch trees around the clearing created a perfect circle of grass underneath. It was always twilight in the land of the fae, and the canopy of trees overhead threw the raised throne at one end of the clearing into partial shadow. The only light came from the slight luminosity of the vines twining around the glen, creating eerie green light. The throne was made out of some carved, dark wood, and was comprised of hundreds of twining serpents of varying sizes and species. Wary from his experience with the stones of the pool, Lucius kept his distance. The throne was empty, except for two live serpents, both _Gloydius_ genus, and as such, venomous. 

Neither serpent moved, just looked at him and Lucius knew that they likely weren't serpents at all, but fae, and so he waited. It wasn't exactly like transfiguration in the manner of Animagi when they transitioned: there was no strange middle period where they bore both human and animal traits. Conversely, it was a shimmer in the air and suddenly they were human appearing. The male was older and more powerful, his bare chest crisscrossed with similar markings to his snake form. He had the classic chiseled cheekbones and pointed ears that marked the fae race, with thick, dark hair and topaz eyes with split pupils. The only things marring his striking face were laugh lines at the corners of those extraordinary eyes and two black tattooed lines radiating from the corners of his mouth to his ears. On his head was a crown, like the throne upon which he sat, made of coiling snakes, these golden with emerald eyes. Lucius knew then that this was the Unseelie Serpent King, Atrox. Versed in fae etiquette and presenting himself as a supplicant, Lucius quickly took a knee and bowed his head.

"Rise, Light of Merlin," came the response from the Serpent King. His amused voice lingered on the vowels and hissed the consonants from a forked tongue, sounding both sophisticated and otherworldly. Lucius stood back up. 

The female who sat on Atrox' lap had his look, same pointed ears, same distinct cheekbones, same strange tattoo, and same dark hair, longer and worn in an elaborate mass of black curls, but her eyes were green. She wore a smaller tiara of silver, comprised of a single snake biting its own tail to make a circle. She fixed Lucius with her split-pupiled gaze until Atrox murmured something in her ear. She smiled then and got up to stand next to the throne. She wore a black and green gown tight around her slender waist and falling into graceful drapes below her hips, down to the ground. Her full breasts were bare and Lucius noticed that her nipples were pierced with what looked like elongated silver serpent fangs, keeping them taut and erect all the time. In noticing this fascinating detail, Lucius' felt his cock start to stir. The woman noticed and a slow smile spread on her face. 

"The Light of Merlin desires you, Cascabella," Atrox said, smiling as well. He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and rested his fingers on the side of his face to regard Lucius. "My daughter," he explained as the woman approached Lucius. 

Cascabella stopped mere inches from Lucius, her chest almost touching his. Lucius willed himself to keep his gaze at her face rather than her adorned breasts. As she maintained his stare, Lucius could feel her start to infiltrate his mind. Unlike Legilimency's direct sorting, categorizing, and controlling, this was, well, serpent-like. Her mind slithered into his and coiled slowly from the bottom to the top before seeming to contract and Lucius involuntarily winced at the sudden pressure. Cascabella continued to smile as she slowly unwound and retreated. "He does desire me, Father," she said, her voice smooth and low, like honey being poured from a jar. "But that is not why he left his realm and entered ours." She sighed and the smile faded from her face. "He desires me no more than he does any number of lovely females that have crossed his life." 

Lucius cursed inwardly; he hadn't meant to insult the Unseelie princess. She was quite desirable, and he wouldn't have turned her down had she been willing, but she was right: that wasn't why he was there.

"Indeed?" Atrox frowned. "Why then, has he crossed into our dominion?"

"He seeks out the King of Serpents to envenomate himself as an assassin and servant of Darkness."

At that point, Lucius realized he might be able to get through the entire visit to the fae without having to say a word. 

Cascabella moved back to her father's side. "Is this true?" Atrox finally asked him, debunking Lucius' theory.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Lucius responded, his throat dry. 

Atrox now uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on his elbows, fixing Lucius with an intense stare. Lucius did not look away, although he had never felt so exposed. "Tell me, Light of Merlin, what do you know of serpent-kind?" 

Lucius cleared his throat. He could have given Atrox a full zoological history: they were of the _Chordata_ phyllum, _Reptilia_ class, _Squamata_ order, they were unable to regulate their own temperature, and so on, but Lucius had a feeling that if he were to regurgitate this sort of trivia, it would likely only annoy the Serpent King. "Would you like facts, Your Majesty, or lore?"

Atrox laughed, filling the glen with hissing echoes. "How carefully you tread, Light of Merlin," he said. 

Lucius smiled slightly. "Well, I am amongst serpents, Your Majesty." 

At this, Atrox only laughed harder. "But of course I would like lore. For example, what does my daughter wear on her beautiful head?"

Lucius looked once more at the bright tiara. "It is the ancient Ouroboros, Your Majesty, the serpentine symbol of life and death's infinite circle."

"Yes it is," Atrox agreed. "Serpents represent the cycle of death and rebirth, sensuality and cunning as well. We inject with venom, paralyze, end life, and then renew the following day, only to do it all over again, shedding our very skin, and of course, we reproduce and die ourselves." His smile faded. "I can discern by your presence in my glen as well as your timing that you would like to ignore the part of the equation that addresses re-birth and that you only seek destruction."

It was strange that the Unseelie King would focus on life and re-birth, something that was typically associated with Light and the Seelie. However, there was no point in lying to him. "It's true, Your Majesty," Lucius said, bowing his head. "I seek the power to end life. There are many others who would create it, but it is not my desire."

Atrox sighed deeply, as if disappointed. "We can grant this request, Light of Merlin, but because you are unready to accept the renewal aspect, granting you this unlimited power of annihilation is going to cost you..." he tipped his head to the side, appraising Lucius before answering. "Your ability to forgive." 

Lucius frowned again. He knew that he would have to give something up, but Atrox' choice was a surprisingly easy one. It wasn't as if Death Eaters were expected to forgive anyone, nor beg anyone else's forgiveness. It also wasn't a trait that Lucius had ever felt a need to cultivate, his father had seen to that; forgiveness was a mark of weakness, nothing more. _Never apologize, never explain,_ his father had been fond of saying. "I agree to your terms, Your Majesty," Lucius said.

Atrox smiled, but it was not kind. "Done and done." He stood. "We shall bestow upon you the unrestricted capacity to kill in any manner you choose. In return, you shall surrender your ability to forgive, both those who transgress against you as well as yourself." As he spoke, Cascabella had crossed to Lucius once again, and was now efficiently stripping him of cloak, waistcoat, and finally shirt. As she did this, the clearing became even darker. Lucius could see the same black snakes from the pool mass around the sides of the clearing, their eyes shining. "Lie down," Atrox ordered. 

Lucius obeyed, lying on his back in the grass, his heart racing. Cascabella spread his arms one at a time, cruciform, and started chanting in Parseltongue, her voice reverberating around the trees. The black serpents slithered up to Lucius and, as they had done in the pool, bound his arms and this time, his legs as well, making him totally immobile. Atrox continued, "Each person you kill shall be rendered onto your flesh as a serpent. As long as you bear them on your body, you shall never forget your kills, and you shall never forgive them, nor anyone else, no matter how the living or the dead may burden you. In the same manner that you shall envenomate others, so too shall you yourself be envenomated."

For the first time since Apparating into the fae realm, Lucius wondered if he had made a mistake in coming here, now that he had agreed to the exchange and was far beyond the point of no return. The Parseltongue chanting continued throughout the clearing and surrounding forest, and Lucius now saw other snakes coming into the clearing. He realized what he was hearing was no longer Cascabella, but the serpents themselves. Atrox continued: "when you have slaked your lust for destruction, you shall return to our realm and release the serpents that you bear back to me. You may do this at any point, but when you do, you shall never be able to kill again and you must find another to take your place as my servant. At such time, you shall whisper the true name of your replacement to any of my children. Do we have an accord, Light of Merlin?"

"We have an accord, King of Serpents. May the earth swallow me whole if I forswear myself."

At this point, Cascabella had straddled him. Lucius still wore his trousers, but could feel his erection pushing against her. Cascabella's eyes were closed, she swayed with the chanting, and her pierced nipples moved rapidly with her excited breaths. She slowly ran her hands up Lucius' bare shoulders and gripped them hard.

The Parseltongue increased in volume and speed and Cascabella shuddered, as with climax. Lucius' cock pressed against her more insistently, not understanding that it wasn't what they were doing. However, his erection disappeared immediately upon Lucius' seeing that the tattoo on her face wasn't a tattoo at all: it was a fissure that was now opening. When it did, like her snake brethren, her jaw fully expanded, unsheathing four-inch-long shining white fangs dripping with bright green venom. Before Lucius could even consider reacting, Cascabella struck, sinking those deadly fangs in deep just above Lucius' right collarbone. 

Lucius, who had been Cruciatus cursed before, had never known agony quite as exquisite. He yelled until he was hoarse, drowning out even the snakes. It seemed to go on for an eternity, this burning, searing pain in his chest, radiating now into his neck, his shoulder, down his right side, and into his right arm. Suddenly, Cascabella pulled out of him, her mouth still open, and with Lucius' blood dripping from her fangs instead of venom. Her fangs slowly retracted and Cascabella closed her mouth, the fissures turning back to solid black lines. She removed her hands from Lucius' shoulders and used the back of one hand to wipe his blood delicately from her lips. She stood then, smiled at him once more, almost shyly, and returned to her father's side. 

The snakes binding Lucius uncoiled, freeing him, although he still couldn't move as the toxin spread through his body. Atrox now rose from his throne, walked across the clearing and looked down at Lucius, Cascabella trailing in his wake. He raised an eyebrow as his eyes drifted down to Lucius' chest. "You neglected to mention that you had already killed, Light of Merlin," he said with mild surprise.

"His mother," Cascabella supplied.

"Ah yes, of course," Atrox said. "Your own Ouroboros: her death beget your birth." 

Lucius looked down at his own chest and now saw the first of the serpent tattoos there, a pale specimen winding around a thorny vine. Lucius winced, as the pain had barely diminished. The venom had now dispersed into Lucius' left side and into his abdomen, as well as up to his head. 

Atrox kneeled beside him. "I forgot to tell you..." he smiled, "You had tremendous power to end life prior to visiting our domain. In fact, your visit was likely unnecessary; it was your own hubris and insecurity that drove you here." He sighed. "However, your choice in doing this might end your own life because Cascabella is young and cannot yet control her venom." He threw a reproachful glance to his daughter. "If you survive, Light of Merlin, go forth and serve..."

Atrox then said a word of power in Parseltongue and placed his hands on Lucius' chest before pushing him hard, into the earth and through the other side. Before he knew it, Lucius found himself staring up at the night sky. He was freezing, his bare back on the snow covering the ground at Malfoy Manor. He slowly sat up, shivering so hard that he thought his jaw would seize. He couldn't stand, and so he crawled inexorably over the frozen rock paths of the formal garden back to his own back door. Once there, Lucius drew his wand with one shaky, numb hand, performed the charm to drop the ward and let himself back in. 

Thankfully, his house elves attended him, stoking a roaring fire and making up his bed. Lucius dropped gratefully into it and lost consciousness for the next three days as his body raged with fever. When he finally recovered, he discovered that he had lost five weeks in the Bialowieza Forest. As these things went, it wasn't too bad and in many ways, Lucius counted himself lucky. 

Moreover, as Atrox had promised, Lucius never failed at killing. Each kill would result in a serpent, of course, worked into his flesh by the fae magic that powered his unbeatable skill at slaughter and always with pain that echoed his own envenomation. In fact, Scabior's serpent had the comically terrible timing of coming to him as he himself was coming in Hermione, with the poetic justice of his replacing Scabior's role in ravishing her. 

Lucius had returned to the fae realm a few times since then, thankfully in a less violent and dangerous manner, and had not crossed paths with the Unseelie serpent royalty. When he did go, Lucius would Apparate to the outskirts of the forest, and then walk in with offerings. He had to be careful because of the tenuous grip he would retain on time passing in his own realm. Ergo, after he lost four months over the span of two days, he decided to stop. He had made the decision with regret, as Lucius enjoyed being in the fae realm with its own, captivating brand of magic, its astonishing creatures, and its wholly alien rules and customs, and so had wondered when he might return. 

CHAPTER 63: BRIGHTEST DARKNESS

Lucius' answer came to him in a dream, sometime after he had taken Hermione's virginity, but before she had broken into his house. He dreamed he was walking through the fae forest at twilight. It always seemed to be twilight there, but perhaps because it was a dream, this time the moon and the sun were both on opposite horizons and Lucius seemed caught between them. It occurred to him then that he was standing at the very cusp between the Unseelie and the Seelie kingdom, perfectly transecting his own body between light and dark. In that moment, he felt a surge of energy hit him, almost bringing him to his knees with its force, and heard a woman's voice:

_When light is at its brightest darkness and darkness is thus decieved, from four moons hence that light shall be received, and then forty days more will run apace, when another light shall seek and find it in that place._

Startled, Lucius had woken. He stole down the hall to his office and quickly wrote down the rhyme on a piece of parchment before he could forget what it said. He then sat in his chair and read it over and over, almost compulsively. Clever as he was, Lucius could not make sense of the riddle. He studied it for a few minutes more, before giving up and putting it away.

Now, in his office in the Ministry, looking out at the enchanted facsimile of the ancient forest, Lucius thought once more about the rhyme. When Hermione had asked about it, what he told her was true, that he still did not know what it meant. He walked back over to his desk, sat down once more, took a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote the rhyme out again from memory. He read it. It spoke of two lights, a first and then a second. They had called him the Light of Merlin when he visited, as his father had warned him, taking names literally: _Lucius_ meant _light_ , from the Latin, and he himself was from Merlin's realm, and a pureblood wizard, so the first light was obviously him. 

Just then, he noticed the _Daily Prophet_ on one corner of his desk. Below the fold was an article about Hermione: _Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age to be Inducted into the Order of Merlin_. Rather than shoving it angrily into his rubbish bin, Lucius summoned some patience, closed his eyes, and once more returned to the horror of that day in Malfoy Manor and Voldemort's words: _Perhaps you can dim or even snuff her light then, Lucius_. Lucius' eyes opened in sudden comprehension. It was so obvious he could have kicked himself for not coming to it sooner. Hermione was the second light and the entire enterprise at Malfoy Manor had been predicted in the riddle: his brightest or most vivid darkness was when she had made him become his father reborn and fulfill the role that he detested as he took Muggle-born Hermione by force and with hatred, coming full circle as with the Ouroboros. And, Voldemort, the Darkest of Dark wizards was indeed deceived by their actions. Stunned by all this indicated, Lucius' felt his heart speed up. He looked at the paper once again.

 _Four moons hence_...that was the next line. All tension and restlessness, Lucius cleared his desk to reveal the calendar enchanted onto the polished mahogany. He got out his wand and waved it impatiently, moving the months back and back, all the way to the day that Hermione was captured; that had been February 21st. Lucius then counted carefully forward once more from that day to this. His heart turned over as he realized that exactly four months had passed, and that he would need to get back to the fae realm that very day before the forthcoming twilight turned to night if he wanted to fulfill the second part of the riddle. 

Willing himself to slow down just for a moment, Lucius steepled his hands and leaned back in his chair. What he actually needed to do was answer the question as to whether or not he really wanted to. Just because it was foreseen didn't mean that by default it had to come true; it was as much a set of instructions as it was a prophecy. He could ignore it completely if he willed it and cancel it out simply by doing nothing and letting the passage of time carry him inexorably along... _and continue to burn with obsessive rage, likely never go to the the realm of the fae again, and remain absolutely, completely, utterly alone,_ his conscience reminded him. Chorley, too, suddenly came to mind and what he had said about not forgiving others, that it was like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. Lucius sighed and massaged his closed eyes with one hand. 

The simple fact was that he could not return to Morgaine's Realm with any intent other than giving up the serpents. He could not forgive Hermione because of his own will, coupled with his arrangement with the Serpent King. For the first time in his life, he needed to be able to forgive and he had willingly given up that ability decades before, a decision he had not regretted until this moment. But in gaining it back, he would lose the ability to kill. Lucius opened his eyes. With the war over and most of his enemies dead, why was he holding onto it anyway? He drew his wand and set it on the desk, studying it. Thanks to his magical skill and the power endowed in him by Atrox, it had ended so many lives in the blink of an eye. Was it worth it to him to keep the ability to obliterate, when the price was a life lived in lonely, vindictive misery? It was a thought worthy of Dumbledore, who had tried so hard to save him throughout his entire life, despite Lucius' best efforts not just to reject him, but at times to ruin him as well. Dumbledore forgave him all of it with unflinching grace. 

Just that moment, Lucius heard the familiar incant, _Iniciaris_. He scowled: leave it to Hermione to use it now, knowing that she had given him the silver dragon blood rather than the dildo. Of course she would lord it over him right then and there. Lucius rested his head against the back of his chair, letting the incant make its way around his mind as he forced himself to consider alternative options rather than letting his anger strike him with its too-familiar sting. Hermione might be gloating, it was true, unless...this was her final test: she knew that he had the silver dragon blood at this point and probably suspected that if he didn't accept with that in his possession, and all it indicated, he likely never would. It was one of those rare defining moments in Lucius' life, something seemingly insignificant that he nonetheless knew would have far-reaching consequences, like accepting a trade of a certain Muggle-born Head Girl's virginity for the very same silver dragon blood, as an example. 

Lucius thought of Hermione, one floor below him. She would have found an empty office, locked the door and then perhaps sprawled in an armchair. Her professional work skirt would be pushed up above her hips, her legs would be open, and her underwear would lay discarded on the floor in front of her as waited for his verdict. Lucius smirked. Oh, but he knew her so well: Acceptio or no, Hermione wouldn't have been idle: her blouse would already be unbuttoned and her breasts freed over the top of her lacy bra, nipples firm little peaks from where she wouldn't have been able to keep herself from caressing them. It was something she was likely still doing as she made herself ready, all while imagining it was Lucius' mouth or fingers teasing them into hardness. _What, is my good girl actually pleasuring herself on the Ministry's time? I should have her written up for this, and she an Order of Merlin inductee, for goodness' sake..._ Lucius thought as his cock responded to the fetching mental image. Well, it wouldn't have been the first incident of such wanton behavior from her during work. Smiling in spite of himself, Lucius whispered _"Acceptio,"_ to his empty office. 

He undid his own trousers, reached down to free his cock and settled in. He stroked himself for a moment, knowing that Hermione wouldn't be likely to make him wait; she had never been patient where Lucius' cock was concerned. He wasn't disappointed. He groaned with pleasure and almost came the second that Hermione slipped the toy into herself; he could feel her satiny walls sheath him completely, for the first time in months. He had forgotten how incandescent it had been with her at their best, so surprising and yet so profoundly familiar. 

Hermione was showing unexpected mercy in penetrating herself at leisure, letting the toy and thus Lucius' cock slip and out with gentle, slow strokes. Nonetheless, he did not know how long he was going to last. After all, he had said _no_ to her so very many times when he really wanted to say _yes_...and _yes_...and _yes_. Now that he had actually accepted, it was easy to admit that he had wanted it all along. Hermione sped up, keeping her strokes long at first, and then shorter and faster. Lucius could feel his breathing increase as she brought him to the edge before he felt the unmistakable contractions, warmth, and surge of wetness that meant Hermione was coming. Only then did Lucius let his own orgasm claim him, the image of Hermione in front of his closed eyes: nipples hard, back arched, head back, mouth wide in a silent scream as her own climax consumed her, never so beautiful as when she was lost in her own rapture. 

Breathing hard, Lucius leaned back in his office chair once again, his eyes still closed. He felt terrific, better than he had the day that he had punished Hermione, not just because he had essentially had sex with her, but because it solidified his decision. Lucius smiled once more and opened his eyes, wondering why it had even been difficult in the first place. As he was no stranger himself to autoerotica (or really any other form of erotica for that matter), in the Ministry of Magic, he transfigured a blank piece of parchment into a towel and cleaned himself up, re-did his trousers and stood. 

He looked out over the Bialowieza Forest once more, knowing that it wouldn't be long before he would be back there amongst those ancient trees, glens, pools, and of course, the fae themselves. Some instinct prompted him to avoid Hermione this day, even though he had just accepted her. Lucius felt firmly that the riddle would only work if he didn't see her again until he was back in the fae forest. Still, he would have to communicate with her somehow. He looked around his desk , searching for inspiration and his eyes lit upon the riddle he had just written down. 

He studied it one last time, before taking out a quill and making some modifications. Hermione was clever, Brightest Witch of Her Age and all. Still, Lucius was as cunning as Hermione was clever, so he wanted to give her the best possible chance of figuring out the riddle in time to fulfill her part in it. The first thing that Lucius did was to write the current date in the right upper corner. The second thing he did was to strike through the phrase _four moons hence_ and circle _forty days more shall run apace_. _Run apace_ meant that the time would run much more quickly in the outside realm of fae than in it while he was there, and that Hermione would have to wait forty days. This would give Lucius the time he needed to give up the serpents and forgive her, if everything went as planned, and not, as Hermione had said, _to Hades in a Gringott's cart_. Lastly, Lucius cut out the article about Hermione's Order of Merlin induction. 

Lucius rolled the article and the parchment up, lit a candle, sealed the bundle with wax, pressed the Malfoy seal in, and snuffed the candle with damp fingers. He looked at it his work once more with satisfaction, confident that it would be enough. He also was assured that Hermione would be unrelenting. Between her persistent offers over the last few weeks and her hyper-competitive nature, she would not rest until she had unraveled the mystery. Lucius smirked: in Hermione's case, her stubbornness, so vexing in the past, would actually serve as an asset this time around. Also, he had inadvertently set himself up for success in this matter by teasing her with the information of the Bialowieza Forest on her first day of work, inflaming her notorious curiosity. 

Lucius opened his door and gave the message to Imelda to deliver, before telling her that he was going home and wouldn't be back for an extended period of time, several weeks as a matter of fact. Imelda was used to Lucius' spontaneous and extended business trips, and took it calmly in stride. Lucius then went back to his office, settled a few things that couldn't wait until his return, took the silver dragon blood, and then made one more stop, to the Department of Mysteries. Although he had been incarcerated for breaking in three years prior, he now had a contact there who was thankfully working. A word in his ear, a few Galleons exchanged in a clandestine handshake, and Lucius walked back out richer by a true name that he needed prior to his journey to the fae. Finally, he exited the Ministry, before Apparating back to Malfoy Manor. 

The house was quiet, as it always was these days. Lucius had trained his house elves to be nigh invisible until directly needed, and less Voldemort, Death Eaters, and now Narcissa and Draco, Malfoy Manor was cavernous. After he ate, Lucius walked back to his office; on the way, he passed the black and white bedroom and stopped for a moment at the threshold. It had been the first place that he and Hermione had ever made love and now it was a year and a day later, another auspicious length of time for fae magic. It was also the Summer Soltice and a waxing moon, the opposite of the night he had gone in search of destruction all those years ago. 

A year and a day ago, it had been a night for building up and re-birth too; Hermione had seen to that with her earnest request that Lucius make love to her, laying claim to him as her own in some sense. He hadn't wanted to do it, as he was furious with her, and of course, per the fae arrangement, he could not forgive her, but again, had made himself slow down. Lucius looked at the bed, the statuary, and the black and white tiles of the floor. He had enjoyed that encounter enough to concern him at the time, a fact that lent credence to Narcissa's belief that he was getting in too deep with his plaything, and so he had cut Hermione out quickly when she asked about the scars. It hadn't worked, as he had found himself caring about her more and more, and his attempts to keep it at bay had failed time and time again. For her part, Hermione wouldn't give up easily either, making every effort to get closer even as Lucius tried to pull away. He took one more wistful look at the room and then walked down the hall.

Lucius then went to his office and returned the silver dragon powder to its hiding spot above the molding in the ceiling. He knew that he would not need it this time around, nor would Hermione. They were both fulfilling the conditions of a fae-given riddle and as such, the way would not be barred for either of them. He wrote a note to Narcissa explaining, as he had with Imelda, that he would be gone for an extended period of time. He kept the melodrama of never returning out of this one; he was confident that he would come back. He left it face-up on her vanity. Lucius returned to his own chambers, almost ready for his journey. The next thing he did was to strip completely and take a long shower. He knew that if he was seeking a spiritual cleansing, he would also need to be physically clean prior, per fae custom. The hot water also helped in easing the residual tension in his shoulders that lingered despite his toe-curling orgasm from earlier in the day. 

Feeling more mellow than he had in weeks, Lucius stepped from the shower, put a towel around his waist and looked at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that made up one entire wall. There were now more serpents than blank skin on his chest. He touched a few of them, knowing that if he were to run a finger down any, his mind would recall the event with absolute clarity, thanks to Atrox' proviso of never forgetting. Lucius sighed. There were just so many of them. With the help of the fae, he had made himself an exceptional killer and soon these grisly reminders of that would be erased from his flesh. With them gone, who was he, really? Perhaps this was what Atrox had meant by not understanding re-birth. 

Lucius went back to his room and dressed just in trousers; there was no point in a shirt as they would strip him as likely as not to get at the serpents anyway. _Speaking of serpents..._ Lucius thought as he entered the hallway. Like many historic pureblood estates, Malfoy Manor had a small herpetarium, to study serpent-kind and to milk them of their venom for poisons and antidotes both. In the case of Lucius' home, it was adjacent to the dungeon. He made his way down there now, and found a boomslang, a magnificent specimen with beautiful green and black striations on its four-foot-long body. Lucius carefully removed it from its tank and wrapped it around his left arm like a living Dark Mark. The snake knew him and, being diurnal and thus sleepy, it remained docile. Thus decorated, Lucius went back upstairs.

He looked out the window to see the last rays of the sun disappear below the horizon, draping the estate in a peaceful lavender gloaming. It was time. Lucius took up his wand and then walked out a back door, putting the ward back up behind him. He walked out through the formal garden, essentially re-tracing the steps he had taken with Hermione the night she had shown him how she had broken in, the boomslang a comforting, warm weight on his left arm. 

Fireflies massed amongst the trees, more than Lucius had ever seen, and he had spent his entire life at Malfoy Manor. There were so many that they illuminated the trees with an unearthly green radiance. Despite the dimness of twilight, the entire park seemed to pulsate with light and life and sound: frogs by the pools, owls and nightingales in the trees, and small animals making their way through the brush. 

The Fell Circle appeared before Lucius and he walked through its stone arch. He didn't need to see the ley lines this time, he knew he was standing right on top of them, and could almost feel their power pulsing through his bare feet. Lucius tipped his head down to the snake wrapped around his arm and whispered the true name that he had obtained earlier that day. He then stooped to the ground and the boomslang unwound itself and slithered through the leaf litter and back out the stone arch. Lucius watched it depart, one part of the agreement settled, and in letting the serpent go, it was a hopeful foreshadowing of what was going to happen. Fireflies drifted among the white marble statues, giving them an almost benign appearance, as if they forgave the crimes done against them centuries ago. With this in mind, Lucius concentrated on the sacred convergence of the Bialowieza Forest and Disapparated.

CHAPTER 64: JUDGEMENT

When he Apparated once more, Lucius was standing in a clearing, and not alone. It was almost a mirror image of Atrox' clearing: perfectly round, surrounded with aspen trees this time, with a throne at one end, this one of living vines, wound through with luminescent moon flowers. Instead of Atrox, Lucius saw the Seelie Queen Ryhannon, fae daughter of Nimue herself, ensconced upon it. The first thing that Lucius noticed was the circlet that she wore in her long, wavy coffee-colored hair: it was the exact same Ouroboros that Cascabella had worn. Lucius just barely managed to keep the surprise off his face, although in thinking about it, he realized that it made perfect sense in the context of the situation. She had the same angled features and pointed ears as her Unseelie cousins, but somewhat softer. Her body was draped with a gown that was by turns white and green, like living fire; in fact, it brought to mind the gown that Lucius had gotten for Hermione the night of the Ball. Lucius found a smile on his face as he took a knee and bowed his head low. 

"Rise, Light of Merlin," the Seelie Queen said. Her voice reverberated around the glen and poured not just into Lucius' ears, but into every recess of his mind, down his spinal cord, and into his heart. It was almost as if she was speaking to every version of Lucius: the child version who loved his governesses and didn't want to see them hurt, the young adult version who killed without remorse, the father version that sired and loved Draco, the prisoner version at rock-bottom in Azkaban with the sliced-up back, and finally, the cast-adrift version of himself that presented to her now. The voice was his mother's voice, Georgina's voice, Robena's voice, Narcissa's voice, and Hermione's voice simultaneously: all the women Lucius had ever loved and damaged, echoing in his ears and his core like thunder and equally potent. 

Lucius stood. He had never been in the presence of such a powerful fae. Although it felt less malevolent than the magic that had radiated off of Atrox, Lucius was still well aware that he was here for his own judgment and that he was anything but innocent. Rhyannon had set an elbow on the arm of her throne and touched the side of her face with her graceful, tapered fingers, her posture casual, but her stare was intense as it pinned Lucius in place. "You seek redemption." It wasn't a question.

Lucius didn't let his gaze waver. "I do, Your Majesty."

"And you believe because you weren't able to find it within Merlin's realm, that you'd find it here." She didn't say it with malice, just as a statement of fact. 

"Not believed, Your Majesty, but hoped." 

Her fine brow furrowed, seeking understanding. "Yet you sought us out, rather than the Serpent King Atrox, with whom you negotiated the initial arrangement."

Lucius answered carefully, but honestly, the former came easily to him; the latter did not. "I Apparated into the fae realm, Your Majesty. This is where my journey took me. If the Serpent King possessed the power and the desire to return my ability to forgive, I imagine I would have found myself in his court instead. Also, if I am so fortunate as to relinquish my serpents today, Atrox' servants shall find him readily enough, I suspect." As if in answer, he could suddenly feel every serpent on his chest, similar to the weight of the boomslang on his arm earlier, but heavier and more oppressive. Lucius took a deep breath. "I come here in the spirit of Light and life, not Darkness and destruction. When I first sought out the Serpent King, he mentioned that I didn't understand the re-birth aspect of serpent-kind, but I believe that I finally do, Your Majesty. I am no longer Atrox' creature." 

Rhyannon's expression didn't change; she just kept his gaze. She then stood, her gown flowing between white and green like a waterfall of light. She walked over to Lucius and as she did, her footsteps made luminescent patches of green on the clearing. She stopped in front of him, her power almost overwhelming him. "You're the Light of Merlin; you've always been mine," she said simply. Immediately, Dumbledore's voice came to Lucius' mind: _what Voldemort doesn't understand about you is that you have tremendous capacity to love and be loved_. It was re-assuring and jarring at the same time and Lucius couldn't help but wonder if Rhyannon herself had put the memory there just then. 

Rhyannon's eyes dropped to Lucius' chest. "You may not be his creature, but you have amassed many servants for Atrox," she said with that same neutrality.

Lucius felt his mouth set with determination. "And I'm ready to give them up, Your Majesty."

The Seelie Queen looked in his face and smiled enigmatically. "Patience, Light of Merlin," she said. "It is imperative that you understand what that involves." Rhyannon moved away from Lucius and crossed back to her throne. She took one of the luminous moon flowers and pulled it gently until a vine unwound. Rhyannon then walked out from her throne, bringing the vine behind her. She traversed a circle within the perimeter of her own clearing, closing the loop of vine at the throne where she had started. She then said a word of power and the inside of the circle shimmered and appeared as a silvery pool of light, almost like a giant fairy Pensieve. 

Lucius swallowed, his heart speeding up. Rhyannon approached him and looked into his eyes and his soul once more. "Do not enter in fear, Light of Merlin," she said. "But know that as you close your accord with Atrox, you must enter into a new one with me. Per your agreement with the Serpent King, once he has his servants, you shall no longer be able to end the lives of your fellows, neither with your wand, nor your hand. However, in exchange for extracting the venom of hard-heartedness and replacing it with the elixir of forgiveness, I too shall ask something of you."

Lucius sighed. He wasn't surprised, but he was hoping that giving up the ability to slaughter would be enough; it seemed sacrifice enough for him. "And what is that, Your Majesty?"

Rhyannon shook her head. "You must do it sight unseen, Light of Merlin." 

Lucius felt a sliver of foreboding as he looked at the grass below his feet, thinking. Entering into an accord with the fae, even the Seelie, was slippery at best, even when all the variables were on the table, or as much as they ever were with creatures like these. Agreeing blind was just plain hazardous and flew in the face of everything Lucius believed about being pragmatic. Put simply, it was a leap of faith, and Lucius had always had a difficult time having faith and trust in other people, he thought, _in fact, so much so that--_ suddenly his head snapped up in sudden understanding. This wasn't an accident: it was a lesson, his first. He narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I agree," he said. 

Rhyannon smiled. "Very well, Light of Merlin, then we can begin." She put her left hand on his right shoulder and slipped it down so it lay over top of his clavicle. "Kneel." Lucius dropped to his knees. Rhyannon then closed her eyes and Lucius' skin lit underneath her hand with a golden glow, becoming translucent so he could see the large blood vessels that ran underneath. She said another word, which echoed in the glen before seeming to concentrate back on her, entering her being and then radiating out of her hand and into him. Lucius heard his own heart respond, increasing its pace. Now each beat pounded through his ears as Rhyannon drew the venom out. It didn't hurt like it had going in, but he felt tremendous pressure in his chest, enough to steal his breath from him.

After a moment, Rhyannon pulled her hand away, cupping it quickly, as if to capture what she had drawn out. She whispered another word at her closed palm before bending down and placing her hand next to the ground. Only then would she open her hand. A bright green serpent with golden eyes slithered out. It stuck its forked tongue out twice, tasting the warm twilit air before slipping away through the soft grass. Rhyannon then stood. Lucius took a deep breath. He felt different, but would have been hard pressed to articulate how, with his own serpents still present and weighty. When he looked down, he saw that they were now moving, not quickly, but as if they were waking up. "Stand," Rhyannon said.

Lucius stood. "Thank you."

Rhyannon inclined her head graciously. "That was only the beginning, Light of Merlin," she said, and now her voice sounded stern with warning. She waved her hand over Lucius' chest. "That was my part of your journey; I unlocked the door only. The rest shall be up to you, and it shall be far more challenging, almost to the point of agony." She traced one of the serpents, the latest one, Scabior. Immediately, his death and its surrounding circumstances flowed into Lucius' memory. Remarkably, it also showed in the silvery surface that Rhyannon had created next to the throne. Lucius could feel his shoulders and his jaw tense as he watched himself curse Hermione's attacker and saw him fall to the floor. In that moment, Lucius started to gain an inkling of what was to come. Why in the name of Merlin, or in this case, Morgaine, was Rhyannon choosing to start with the most difficult one? 

The Seelie Queen now walked around him as the shimmering surface faded. "I shall call to your mind each of your kills. I shall then ensure that you know each one of them, and once you understand them and forgive them, I shall release them, where they can find the Serpent King." Lucius looked at the silvery pool apprehensively, trying to bend his mind around how he was going to forgive a man like Scabior. As if reading his thoughts, Rhyannon stopped in front of Lucius and held up a hand. "Understand that forgiveness does not include excusing their own misdeeds; I can see their hearts as well as yours and can allow that not all of your killings were undeserved. Conversely, forgiveness means not letting their transgressions and your anger over them rule you; understand as well that forgiveness can, and in this case, _must_ be bestowed without the other person asking you for it." 

Rhyannon sighed deeply. "That said, you shall not have the opportunity to beg their forgiveness. Ending their lives with your hands or your wand has stripped you of that right." Lucius didn't say anything; he had rarely regretted killing anyone, and he would have killed Scabior ten times over, in ten different ways, as he had told Hermione that day. Once again, with her uncanny omniscience, Rhyannon spoke: "Whether you believe it of me this moment, before this is over, you will wish for their forgiveness, at least from a few of them, but it is not an option for you." 

Rhyannon lifted her hand once more over Lucius' chest. "We'll go backward in time." Lucius felt another wave of misgiving: she was going to start and end on the most fraught: if Scabior was the first, it meant that Lucius' own mother would be the last. _Do not enter in fear,_ was what Rhyannon had said. Lucius took a deep breath, clearing his mind as if he was going to cast something intricate like an eighth-level healing spell. She traced her finger down Scabior's serpent as she had before. The magic circle shimmered as Scabior's long black snake slithered out of the thorns, became corporeal and dropped to the grass with a soft thump. Again, it wasn't painful, but it did feel extremely strange, the twisting and pressure coming from within him, as if someone was pulling at him in deep-seated places within his viscera not ever meant to be touched. 

Again, Lucius' killing of Scabior showed on the Pensieve and this time, Lucius made himself watch it. The circle shimmered again and scenes from Scabior's own life started flashing therein. Lucius had not known Scabior very well prior to the day he had killed him; he knew that he had been Marked only about two weeks prior to his death, and that he was a capable enough Snatcher but as Death Eaters went, was still fairly wet behind the ears. _And crude,_ Lucius thought with distaste, _unspeakably crude_. Although, it wasn't as if Death Eaters were known for their elegance; Lord Voldemort had valued his thugs and Lucius himself seemed to be an exception, not a rule as far as refinement was concerned.

The Pensieve had now changed and Lucius found his eyes widen in surprise as what he saw now was a boy of maybe 10 or 11 standing in front of an older man with his same dark hair and dark eyes. Head dejectedly down, the boy slowly removed his shirt, revealing a skinny torso as the man, who Lucius surmised was his father, performed the gesture that was entirely too familiar to Lucius: clearing his leather belt of its loops. He circled his finger in the air and the boy turned around. His father then cocked his arm back, letting the belt snap the young Scabior between the shoulder blades. The boy let out a cry of pain that lanced through Lucius' heart. The blows fell one after the other as the young Scabior shrieked in agony.

Just then, a woman came in. She was as scrawny as the boy, with mousy brown hair, but the look she gave the young Scabior was as full as tenderness as any of Narcissa's looks at Draco, before the look changed to one of ferocity, directed at the father. She dove at him, pulling at his belt-wielding arm with both of her hands as she screamed at him to stop. The man threw her across the room and got out his wand from his back pocket, before pointing it at her. _Crucio,_ his lips formed the curse and the woman writhed on the floor as young Scabior sobbed, now huddled in the corner. The circle faded. 

Lucius relaxed his hands that had formed fists as well as his knotted shoulders. In many ways, he was seeing himself and the direction of Scabior's short life brought to mind something that Chorley had said before his own life was shortened, _violence can only beget more violence_. Lucius looked down to where the black serpent waited for him on the grass. Lucius recalled what Rhyannon had said about not giving Scabior a pass on the horrible acts he had committed, but in letting his anger with the dead man go. "I forgive you," Lucius said. Strangely, although he thought forgiving Scabior would be difficult, after seeing the images in the circle, Lucius found it simple, perhaps because it was so uncomfortably relateable. The serpent glided away through the grass, becoming one with the darkening forest. _One down, 21 to go,_ Lucius thought grimly, looking at the waving underbrush where the serpent had just passed.

The next serpent that Rhyannon ran her finger over was Barty Crouch Jr., a snake with white and brown stripes, slightly smaller than Scabior's had been. Again, forgiving him was easier than Lucius had anticipated, and certainly easier than Scabior, because in this case, Lucius had borne Crouch no grudge. Lucius hadn't liked him, but as he had told the Dark Lord, he had been hesitant to end his fellow pureblood's life and indeed, had only done it on Voldemort's orders. As he witnessed Crouch's life in he Pensieve, his Azkaban incarceration following the disowning by his father, and the ultimate sacrifice made by his mother, Lucius again felt the hint of empathy. This time, as Rhyannon had predicted, a part of him wanted to ask forgiveness; however, he let it go because it didn't matter at this point, and the Seelie Queen had forbade him to do so. 

Over the next several hours, Rhyannon touched Lucius' serpents one at at time, releasing them as Lucius forgave them, feeling lighter each time they slithered away through the grass. Despite the passage of time, night never fell in Rhyannon's court. A few stars winked from overhead, but the sky remained violet. Lucius couldn't help but wonder how much time had passed in the Realm of Merlin and if it would be more than usual because he was so steeped in fae power. Naturally, Lucius also wondered if Hermione had solved the riddle and if she would be willing to make the passage into fae at the appointed time, whenever that would translate into. 

Rhyannon now touched the second-to-last serpent, a solid green one that slid gracefully onto the grass. It was the first Muggle that Lucius had ever killed, proudly and for Lord Voldemort, of course. It had been on the other side of the Malfoy Manor parkland, opposite from where Hermione had broken in. That end of the Malfoy estate butted up against a national forest where Muggles liked to camp for their holidays. This man was no exception, camping by himself, no doubt to get away from some mundane, useless, fluorescent-lit, Hades-resembling Muggle desk job. That evening, Lucius had been out in the woods with Avery, who was always up for Muggle-baiting. 

The two of them had given the Muggle a good scare, transfiguring sticks into snakes, and not just a few, but a plethora. The snakes didn't attack, just gathered around the man, more and more until his camping area was a writhing sea of serpent-kind. The two wizards hadn't spent long at it, mostly because Lucius was anxious to see if he could cast the Killing Curse as easily as Atrox had said he'd be able to. With the man having pulled himself into a fetal position on the hood of his truck, shaking and rocking back and forth, Lucius struck without ever revealing himself. The curse knocked the man off of his vehicle and when he fell to the ground, all of the serpents dissipated like smoke. 

Predictably, Avery had laughed; torture and death that were not his own always amused him. Lucius went over to the hapless camper and rolled him over with the toe of his boot. His face was frozen with a look of terror, flickering orange in the light from the fire he had kindled, still burning cheerfully with no idea that its creator was dead. Lucius didn't feel anything but the hard thrill of success. He had killed a Muggle with magic, willed this lesser being's death and then brought it about in an instant. It was a magnificent, powerful feeling, this competence and assertion that he could snuff life with Avada Kedavra as easily as he could snuff light with Nox. 

Back in the the Seelie Queen's clearing, the Pensieve now showed the dead Muggle alive at home in a biege-carpeted, cozy, lamp-lit living room with pictures on the walls of him with smiling family members. He was lying on the floor while two toddlers, twin boys from the looks of it, both with blond hair, climbed all over him, shrieking with laughter. The man picked one up and flew him over his head as if the lad were on a broomstick, his eyes full of joy. Lucius felt a pang of remorse shoot through him. There was nothing for him to forgive this time; as Chorley had been, the man was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time while a pair of Death Eaters nearby were feeling murderous. 

Now more than anything, Lucius wanted those twin boys to be able to grow up with a father who loved them. He stared at the serpent next to him and fervently wished to ask for forgiveness, as the fae queen had predicted. Lucius glanced back up at Rhyannon, who looked at him evenly and shook her head. "No," she said, her voice soft. Lucius hung his head, finally understanding what she had said at the beginning. He hated guilt, as he told Hermione, it was a futile, uncomfortable emotion, but perhaps he had said that to her because he had always shunted it to the side, even when it was a valid response to something that he had done. Receiving the forgiveness of others also carried the burden of feeling as if he owed them something and Lucius had always hated being beholden to anyone. However, because he rarely asked for forgiveness, he never had felt the release inherent in being forgiven himself. Although it was pointless, he told the green serpent it was forgiven. _For existing? For crossing my sight? For being a Muggle?_ Lucius asked himself. Of course, having none of these answers, the snake just slithered silently away.

As the magic circle cleared, Lucius looked down at his chest. There was only one serpent left: his mother. His heart beat fast as Rhyannon touched it. It slid off of his chest and to the ground, a pure white serpent, far larger than all the others. Lucius made himself look at the circle, although, as with the closed conservatory door, he dreaded what it might reveal. When the image did come, it was as Lucius' had feared: the surface showed his mother Laila, her wavy, waist-length white-blond hair unbound, her face and lips as white as the sheets she lay on, blood pooled all around her, spreading underneath her now to stain the ends of her hair crimson. Next to her, a mid-Healer cast hemostatic incantations futilely, but with grim determination. Laila's chest continued to rise and fall shallowly and even with death's shade upon her, her eyes frantically searched the room. 

In the corner, another Healer, an older man with iron-gray hair, worked over a table covered with blood-soaked towels. Abraxus Malfoy looked on as well, both of their heads bent over whatever was there. "Nuchal cord," the Healer muttered.

Abraxus sighed impatiently. "English, please."

"The cord's wrapped," the Healer said. 

This drew a weak sound of distress from Lucius' mother and if anything she became more frantic.

The male Healer made a gesture, no doubt to free the cord, and then got out his wand, pointing it at the table. " _Rennervate,_ " he said. Immediately, the room filled with a lusty cry. 

The wan figure on the bed turned at the sound, her face relaxing. Tears shone in her light blue eyes and she held out a shaking hand. "H-hold," she whispered, her chest now moving rapidly, as if trying to stay alive for just a few more critical moments. "Hold." The Healer that had been attending to the newborn Lucius finished cleaning him off and then brought him back over to the bed. Laila was by now too weak to hold him and the mid-Healer, with her own eyes sparkling with tears, realized that there was nothing more to be done. Wasting no time and with a resolute look, she propped the dying woman up and sat behind her, putting her arms underneath hers to support Laila's hands as she took her baby son for the first and last time.

Laila's bottom lip trembled as she held Lucius. Tears streamed down her face and for a moment, a beatific smile graced her pale features with the light of pure joy. "Oh sweet Merlin..." she said, looking into his face. "He's perfect..." One more heartbeat and then the light faded from her eyes and she saw nothing more. The mid-Healer disentangled herself and took the infant Lucius. 

Abraxus gave one look to his now-dead wife and his face contorted with rage and agony. "Laila!" he roared, taking her by the shoulders, "Laila!" He looked around, determined to direct his anger at someone. He drew his wand and pointed it at the mid-Healer. 

By then Cygnus Black had come in, having heard the commotion. He dove at Abraxus just as _Avada Kedavra_ was leaving his mouth. "No!" Cygnus cried out, pushing Abraxus' wand arm, "You'll hit Lucius!" The curse went wide, blasting an ugly, burning, black hole into the gold and green wallpaper behind the mid-Healer's head. She cowered, holding Lucius closer, as he wailed at the injustice of this new, cold, loud, angry world he had found himself in. 

Cygnus wrestled Abraxus out of the room as Abraxus continued to yell, "Laila! You've killed her! I'll not rest until you pay..." With Abraxus continuing to rant and the infant Lucius continuing to cry, adult Lucius wondered if his father had been speaking to him or to the mid-Healer. With this question on Lucius' mind, the circle faded into silvery-gray mist once more. 

CHAPTER 65: REDEMPTION

Lucius felt it difficult to take a deep breath after seeing the scene of his birth and his mother's death. He wouldn't be able to leave this place or even exist if he couldn't ask forgiveness this time and the impact of Rhyannon's warning hit him full force. He looked at the serpent at his feet, who regarded him passively, and then back at Rhyannon. Lucius didn't care what she had said, he had to try. "Please," he said to the Queen, his voice harsh with emotion. "I'm begging you..." 

Understanding him, Rhyannon smiled and moved her arm in a circle over the snake. The snake shimmered as Atrox and Cascabella had, and then Laila stood before them. Her eyes lit in the same manner as they had when they first beheld him and Lucius found he could finally breathe. Laila held out both her hands. "Lucius," she said. Lucius took her hands in his and they felt real and solid and warm. 

He fell to his knees and pressed her hands to his forehead as his shoulders shook and his chest contracted in agony that had nothing to do with the serpents that were now gone. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Forgive me for ending your life." 

Laila reached down and tilted his face up. "There's nothing to forgive," she said. "I was able to hold you in my arms and my last moment in Merlin's Realm was one of absolute happiness." She brushed a strand of hair off of his face, her fingers light and soothing. "I beg you to forgive me for leaving you so quickly." Even as she spoke she had started fade, her fingers becoming lighter and more nebulous as they touched Lucius' forehead. 

"Don't go," Lucius said, the pain in his chest increasing. "Please don't leave."

"Do you forgive me?" she asked, searching his eyes.

"Yes," Lucius said, without hesitation. "I forgive you." 

She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead and Lucius closed his eyes, committing the moment to memory. When he opened his eyes again, she was once more a pure white serpent and had already moved away to join the others. The pain now insurmountable, Lucius put his forehead on the ground as he felt his fists clench once more and tears wet his own face. He was unsure how long he stayed down, but when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he started, almost as if he had forgotten that Rhyannon was there. Taking a moment to gather himself, Lucius finally sat on his heels and looked at her. 

As his mother had, Rhyannon took his hands in hers. With one fluid movement, she pulled him back to his feet. "Your journey is not yet over, Light of Merlin," she said. 

Lucius sighed and rubbed his face with the back of one hand. Even though he was exhausted and more overwrought than he thought was possible, he squared his shoulders. "What else must I do?" he asked. 

"You have one more person to forgive," Rhyannon said, gesturing at the circle. 

Lucius narrowed his eyes at it as a shape manifested out of the swirling fog. It was Hermione and rather than feeling his usual wrath over her visage, his heart leapt. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and she looked around with wonder and apprehension. "H-hello?" she called. To her credit, she had not drawn her wand and Lucius felt a surge of pride: as usual, Hermione had done her homework before ever setting foot in the fae realm. She saw him through the barrier of the circle. "Lucius?" she asked, her voice soft and incredulous and her brown eyes now full of tentative hope. She reached towards him but was stopped by the surface of the circle. 

Lucius reached for her as well, also stopped by the circle. 

Rhyannon had walked up behind him. On the other side of the circle, Hermione had frozen in time, her hand outstretched. "Know that the decision to use Prima Nocte was not easily made," the Seelie Queen said, close in Lucius' ear. "She submitted herself to the throes of anguish, both of body and spirit, dashing herself against the rocks of your fury and resentment, to keep you and your family from harm by He Whom You Served. What she sacrificed was your presence in her life and your love, Light of Merlin: please do not do her the disservice of mistaking it for anything else." The Seelie Queen stepped back and her voice softened. "If you forgive her, say it out loud to her now."

Lucius looked at Hermione, held in a stasis of reaching for him. "I forgive you," he said and meant it with all of his heart. 

Hermione still didn't move. Lucius looked at Ryannon questioningly. As with Laila, her presence was starting to fade. "Our time is almost finished, Light of Merlin; you have done everything I have asked and you are now purified of all the venom of your hatred. In return, you must serve me through the Healing Arts that you abandoned in your youth." 

Lucius sighed and dropped his head for a moment. He had already agreed to it, so he had no choice but to accede. When he looked back at Ryannon, she was metamorphosing from his mother to Georgina, to Robena, before finally becoming Laila once again. "I'm proud of you, Lucius," was the last thing she said before she shimmered and turned into a cloud of fireflies that dispersed among the trees. 

As soon as she did, the magic circle evaporated and Lucius' hand touched Hermione's. "Lucius," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry for the Prima Nocte."

Lucius responded by sliding both his hands up her face and kissing her on the mouth. Hermione kissed him back, her hands running up his back. He broke after a moment. "I've already forgiven you," he replied, putting his forehead on hers.

"Even though you said you never would," Hermione pointed out, her voice sharp, but Lucius had known her long enough to realize that she was teasing.

Lucius pulled back from her and raised an eyebrow. "Well, my name does mean _bad faith_ ," he returned, "from the Latin."

"It also means _light_ ," Hermione said, running her hands lightly up his arms and raising gooseflesh where she touched, "from the Latin." 

"Figured that out, did we?" Lucius said. "You truly are the brightest witch of your age." He did not bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Slipping into this pattern of verbally dueling with her felt as natural as drawing breath. "And here you are, and in one piece."

"I only came here to give you something," Hermione said sniffily, digging around in her bag. She brought out a long, smooth object with a mirror finish, smiling as she did so, before arranging her features into an expression of befuddlement. "Now, I wasn't sure, because your note wasn't all that clear, but was _this_ what you meant by gift?" Her eyes glinted mischievously.

"Of course it was and _I'll_ be taking that," Lucius snapped, grabbing the dildo out of her hand as Hermione made an offended little huff. "Shame on you," he said, brandishing the dildo in her direction, "not letting a man get any sleep...using it brazenly within the Ministry of Magic itself...and while on duty...honestly..." He shook his head. 

Hermione had the grace to look abashed and gave him a crooked grin. She held her hand out. "May I have it back please?" she asked sweetly. "Now that you've scolded me...the toy is rather fun, you know..."

Lucius sighed as if it pained him and held it out. Just as it was millimeters from her outstretched fingers, Lucius pulled it out of her reach, cocked his arm back and tossed it as hard as he could into the bushes, generating an angry clamor from some fae or other creature. "Absolutely not," he said, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up, "as I believe you may be abusing it."

Hermione stomped her foot and pouted. "Lucius Malfoy, that was petty," she admonished him. 

Lucius smiled. He reached for her once more, cupping her face in his hands before stroking her hair. "Well, Miss Granger, the way I see it," he said softly as he moved closer to her, "You'll never..." he kissed her neck and she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, a low moan escaping her throat. "ever..." he kissed the other side, "Need it..." He now let his tongue caress the helix of her ear as his cock readied itself for action before he took her peach-soft earlobe in his mouth and nipped at it gently with his teeth. "Again," he finished.

Hermione pulled a shaky breath. "Then I only have three words I want to say to you," she said.

"I love you too."

Hermione smirked. "That's not what I was going to say." She took his hand and pulled it between her thighs. "What I was going to say is 'I'm not wearing anything under my skirt that might get in the way.' So essentially...the same thing." 

Lucius sighed in exasperation, his hand pausing in its journey northward. "That's more like 13 words, Miss Granger," he said.

Hermione's smirk widened to a smile. "Six months without making love to me and that's what you're choosing to focus on now: my inability to count properly." She stepped back and lay down on the ground, propping herself on her elbows. She maintained his gaze as she let her legs move apart, all while coquettishly keeping herself covered with her skirt. "Why don't you come down here and make sure I'm not lying to you instead?" She cocked an eyebrow.

Lucius joined her on the ground. Rather than go immediately for what Hermione was offering, he swept his hair over one shoulder and kissed her, letting his hands caress her face tenderly. She lay back all the way and embraced him, kissing him back and opening her mouth under his to let his tongue touch hers. Lucius found himself to be in no hurry. All of wizarding history might be passing back in the Realm of Merlin and he found he couldn't care less. He was exactly where he wanted to be and with the person he wanted to be with. After all, as Hermione herself had said, he was a man who knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to get it, and now, finally, it was his without reservation or restriction. He had never felt richer. 

EPILOGUE: OUROBOROS

From his bed, George Weasley glared at the sunshine streaming through the dirty windows above the joke shop. It was probably 11 o'clock, judging by the angle of the light. It didn't matter; these days Ron did the majority of the day-to-day operations of running the joke shop. George sat up and massaged his stinging eyeballs before looking around. The squalid space he called his room was a ruddy mess, littered with dirty clothes, crumpled Drooble's wrappers, and empty Firewhisky bottles. His mother had been appalled, but George had closed the door and forbade her from cleaning it. 

The Firewhisky bottles were medicinal only, or so he told himself. The pain of Fred's death had torn his very soul apart, as if he would never be whole again. The Death Eater Rookwood had killed Fred in the Battle of Hogwarts, and rather than being angry with him, George was most furious with Percy for going after Rookwood and eventually killing him, stealing George's revenge out from underneath him. The two brothers had almost come to blows at Fred's funeral, although in George's defense, he hadn't thrown the first punch: that had been Percy, responding to George's bitter comment, "You never really have chosen to do right by this family, have you, Perce?" Their father had dove between them just in time. Ginny of course had watched the entire thing, but wisely hadn't made any comments; she and George barely spoke as it was.

George had wanted to kill Rookwood with every fiber of his being. Even prior to the battle, he found that he could kill easily. Initially, he had balked at the idea of killing the Death Eaters with poison in Azkaban as commissioned, but at the end of the day, it had been George who had done all three, and not Fred. They were going to switch off, but George found that he actually didn't mind it and in fact, offered to do the other two as well. Malfoy had said it was going to be easy, and it was. Spiking their meals with the poison and then watching each of them die either slowly or quickly as a result filled George with a certain vindictive glee: as it happened, murder, particularly by poison, was the ultimate prank. But Rookwood he would have choked the life from with his bare hands, had he been given the opportunity. Too late now.

George yawned hugely. He had slept like dog shit the previous night. He had had a terrible dream about a man who could turn into a snake and a woman with pierced tits who could also turn into a snake. They had wanted George to work for them or something, and even had said that he already had served them through killing Avery, Dolohov, and Mulciber. At that point, George had tried to argue that he wasn't even in Slytherin. The man ( _was it Ajax? Arrow?_ ) had chuckled at this. _You believe this is about school houses, Half-a-Man? Besides, you're cunning, devious, and slippery like a Slytherin,_ he had said, _and you shall kill in my service; we shall mark your first three now._ The recollection became murkier; even now the dream was evaporating as if someone was casting Evanesco. All George remembered was a searing pain in his chest following the snake-man's last words. That had been what had woken him from sleep. 

George shivered. It had been just a dream, or so he thought; his chest still felt sore and he rubbed it through his stained tee-shirt. George staggered to the bathroom. After he had used the toilet and splashed water on his face, drinking some out of the tap with his cupped hands, he removed his shirt. He turned to toss it in the pile of filthy clothes that served as a hamper in the corner next to the tub, but caught something strange in his reflection. To his astonishment, his chest now bore a tattoo that he definitely didn't remember getting, three serpents, all different, all artfully rendered in black and gray, photo-realistic, twining through black thorns. They almost seemed alive as George saw his ribs expand and contract quickly with this sudden, disturbing discovery.

"What the bloody hell?" he whispered as his twin in the mirror mimicked him, reminding him cruelly that Fred was gone. Now George looked down at his chest. The serpents stared back up at him, as permanent to his skin as the three murders he had committed were to his soul. 

_FIN._


End file.
